Dangerous Liaisons
by explicitlyrichonne
Summary: AU. For decades after an incident, the Jesekai's and Grimes have despised each other. Michonne Jesekai, the sweet mayor's daughter and daycare assistant is supposed to hate Rick Grimes, the town manager's son, but can't help her attraction to him.
1. Violette House Party

_**Violette House Party**_

In the 70's, Frederick Grimes and Desmond Jesekai invested in a ghost town Willbury, now officially known as _Vanity Front_. Well, that was when the Grimes' and Jesekai's were the best of friends, now…that relationship's gone to complete shit. Anyway, the town was named after Desmond's daughter Vanity, who was killed around that time.

After her murder, the two families grew apart, yet neither would leave Vanity Front. They both felt as though they owned the place, and, well, they did. Desmond's son Malcolm became the mayor of Vanity Front, and Frederick's son Richard became the town manager.

Michonne Jesekai, daughter to Malcolm Jesekai, the mayor of Vanity Front, was perched in the corner of Violette House with a glass of red wine. Stirring into it with her olive stick, staring around. This was one of her least favorite places to be. She hated the clinks of the silverware, the sounds of indistinct chatter, the music.

Her father stood across the room in deep conversation with people she knew had to be important and Richard Grimes II was seated in a table beside his wife Delila, they were drinking. The seat where their son, Rick, was supposed to be seated in was empty.

Michonne set her drink down, and exited the ballroom, feeling relief as she stepped into the dark halls of the Violette House. All she wanted to do was go upstairs to her room and wait for the townspeople to finally leave, almost at the long staircase, she heard a sound.

It was the faint sound of a woman screaming.

She turned to her side where she knew the unnecessarily wide coat closet was and pushed it open, the sight ahead of her made her stiffen.

It was Rick Grimes, he was pressed against Jessie Anderson, his ex, whose back was curving over a desk as he kissed on her neck with her chin in both his hands, his pants had fallen to his knees, but he still wore black boxers. She was moaning loudly through his strokes.

"Sweet mother of Jesus." Michonne turned to go, and shut the door behind her, clicking down the hall hurriedly, disgust written on her face. But as she neared the staircase, she felt a tugging grip on her arm.

"Will you slow down?"

It spun her around, causing her to knock into the chest of said person. She blinked up through the turbulent haze at Rick Grimes.

Moonlight spilled through, illuminating his pretty blue eyes. One of his curls was curving over the angular contours of his nose, tumbling back and forth over his face.

"Is there a reason you grabbed me?" She asked, blinking down at her balled fist that was clutched in his hand.

Rick opened his grip and her hand fell away, despite that disconnection they were still at a close proximity that didn't make her comfortable.

"If you weren't such a fast walker, I wouldn't have had to." He muttered irritably.

She didn't answer, just stared at him in all his breathlessness. Somehow, within the passionate thralls of his lovemaking with Jessie Anderson, and her quick observation of his actions, he'd managed to pull his pants up and throw on his suit jacket, it was rumpled and wrinkled over his arms.

"You didn't see that." He shook his head down at her.

"Sadly, I did." Michonne took a step back. "You abandoned your parents with the one people they hate most in the world for a quickie in the coat closet? That's pretty foul, even for a Grimes."

"No…I didn't." Rick stated sternly, tilting his head at her. "Because you didn't see that. This never happened."

She chuckled, raising her chin and folding her arms over her chest. "What are you offering?"

"This isn't a game, Jesekai."

"Oh?" She looked him up and down, somehow amused by the serious note his tone had taken. "You aren't supposed to be seeing that girl, are you? Knowing the Grimes' grimy ways, your father probably forced you to break it off after her bouts of cocaine use."

"Like the Jesekai's are any better. Sweet daycare assistant? Coercionist would've been a proper representation." He sighed heavily and averted his eyes before looking back at her. "Now will you quit that yapping and tell me just what the hell you want?"

"Fortunately, I don't want anything from a Grimes. So, consider yourself lucky." Michonne grinned. "All that I ask is that you find another place to fornicate other than the Violette House's coat closet. I live here, you know."

She turned away and stalked toward the stairs, just as Jessie had gathered herself and was heading their way, leaving them standing by themselves in the empty corridor of Violette House.

* * *

"You left me all alone at that party." Her father Malcolm was smoking a cigar at the window of his room. "I wanted to tell you something."

Michonne stood at the door, still in her white gown from the party that had only just ended, she was sipping a glass of red wine.

"And what is that?" She approached her father at the window and stared out at the lively occurrences of Vanity Front, she could hear laughter and music.

Her father blew smoke out the window and faced her. "We're trying to get a budget approved, but it isn't looking pretty with the blatant hostility between mayor and town manager."

"What'd you expect?" She smirked, downing more wine. "People don't like division."

"You're absolutely right. Problem is, Richard and his party aren't going for a publicized handshake in Vanity Park. I should've expected that too."

Michonne shook her head. "What will you do?"

"It's not what _I'll_ do." Malcolm looked serious as he faced her. "That _Rick_ reached out to us after the party, he accepted our proposition."

"Wha—what proposition? I don't think a handshake with his son will be as notable as one with Richard. It'll only make the conflict seem more apparent. A rebellious son and his family's enemy. It's a bad idea, Dad."

"It's not me. The proposition was you."

"What?" Michonne blinked, laughing unamusedly. "Dad, what are you talking about?"

"Your things are being packed for the Deaux-de Vanus townhouse," he took her glass from her, turning away. "Our camp thinks a relationship between our children would be a bona fide display of peace. Richard will be forced to support it, knowing he'd be the only one left appearing hostile, therefore losing his pillar of rectitude."

"But that's…the Grimes' house…what _the hell_ did you do?"

* * *

 **hi.**

 **i appreciate your reviews so much.**


	2. Grimes Family Ranch

_Recap:_

 _ **-** Michonne catches Rick in a compromising position with Jessie Anderson, Rick's ex who his parents advised him to stay away from due to her cocaine use. Yet Michonne doesn't use it as leverage._

 _ **-** The town of Vanity Front won't push a budget through due to the hostility between town manager, Richard Grimes and mayor Malcolm Jesekai. So, Malcolm proposed a political relationship with his daughter to Rick. Rick accepts after the party, and Malcolm tells Michonne._

 ** _Grimes Family Ranch_**

"But that's…the Grimes' house…what _the hell_ did you do?"

She was processing the words that had just come out of her father's mouth.

Her things were being packed for the Deaux-de Vanus townhouse.

 _A bona fide display of peace,_ he'd said.

She backed away from the window, feeling as though she'd just been kicked in the stomach.

"A car will come by early tomorrow, at 8, to pick you up." Her dad continued.

"I have work at 8." She croaked.

"Well, I'm sure we can make some adjustments." Malcolm bought his cigar to his mouth once more and gazed through the window. Lights reflected in his brown eyes.

Michonne just stared at him, disgust and disappointment brawling for display in her eyes for what she felt most in that moment toward that man.

" _What happened to you_?" Her voice came out a whisper.

"Michonne—"

"You're a _sellout_." The word left her mouth with a repugnant hiss, like venom and she enjoyed the expression that washed over her father's face the second he'd heard it. He looked hurt. "Allowing this after what _they did_ —?!"

"But you didn't seem to mind I considered meeting with Richard to give the town a cordial flaunt of harmony?" He barked at her, crossing his room to stand in front of her. "Admit that this is your own personal little childish vendetta against that boy. _Grow u_ p, Michonne!"

She flinched at his words, before she'd felt kicked in the stomach, now she'd been slapped. Michonne couldn't find her words.

Her father backed away and went back to his place by the curtains.

It was quiet for a long time, minus the faint town hubbub coming through the open window.

"I don't know if you've realized, but people are going to see right through this. Couples don't usually move in with each other five seconds after getting into a relationship." She folded her arms over her chest.

He faced her. "Just say _no_ , Michonne. One call, this all goes away. Stop trying to _think_ about it, we've obviously handled all the little story details. You two have been together for nine months in private, now you've grown tired of hiding it."

" _Okay_."

"What?"

"OKAY. I'll do it. I'll do it for your…budget thing. _God_." She flipped her hair turning away, but her father's hand clamped on her shoulder hard and she whirled in pain, meeting a fiery gaze that was cast on her.

"Remember, you _agreed_ to this." His grip tightened. "Don't try to weasel your way out of it. It's better it never occurs than you embarrassing this family because you can't keep your word."

"Okay." She nodded quickly. "Okay, Dad."

He released her, and jabbed the cigar back in between his teeth, turning away.

Michonne watched with crinkled brows, gulped, and flounced out of his bedroom.

* * *

Rick was slouched on a hard couch of the living room clutching a pencil in one hand, an opened notebook in the other. He was squinting at the Jesekai staff flooding through the wide bronze wood Deaux-de Vanus entry doors. It was a pale blue morning, cold air whooshed in through the door.

The staff carried dark blue vintage trunk suitcases. A woman rolled in two tall golden luggage carts, set on the base of the first was about ten more suitcases and on the other were two large, unopened boxes. One read, 'BED FRAME'. The other read, 'COMFORTER AND SHEET SET.'

"Is that…?" Began Daryl, who leaned against the side of the chair Rick was seated in.

Rick pressed the pencil behind his ear, smacked the notebook on the glass table ahead of him and lifted himself out of the brick-hard couch. He approached the moving cart and pressed his hand to the box.

"She brought her own bed frame…?" He questioned with confused brows.

The woman pushing the cart shrugged matter-of-factly.

"That woman, man." Rick smirked. "Is she here?"

"No, she isn't, sir." She cleared her throat. "Where can we find Miss Jesekai's room?"

Noticing the staff had stopped their movements and the front doors were closing, Rick rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Just—follow me."

He scratched his brow and padded against the wood flooring toward a widely set curvy staircase, he ascended them, coming up to a wide corridor, four rooms spaced out on each side, and one directly at each end. He jabbed a finger at the one directly at the end of the hall.

"There."

As the staff poured past him, down the lengthy corridor and into the room, he noticed one of the doors were cracked open. The only door with a lock. He headed forward, slid inside and shut it behind him.

Inside the room, a wheelchair faced a window, and piercing sun streamed through.

"It's a beautiful day, Gramps." Rick chuckled to himself, approaching the wheelchair that his grandfather Frederick Grimes was hunched over in. He leaned his hip against it and stared out at the view that Deaux-de Vanus offered, the extraordinarily green land, the blue sky. "A beautiful day to get healthy…and take responsibility for your actions."

He squatted in front of the wheelchair. Frederick's absent blue eyes were on the view ahead of them. He was still, he might as well have been dead, not a muscle moved. Until his eyes shot toward Rick, they seemed to tremble. Rick could never really read his eyes, which was frustrating because he felt his grandfather had a lot to tell.

Rick bit his lip and, watching his grandfather's haunted eyes, he almost felt sorry for him.

"Why'd you _murder_ _Vanity Jesekai_ , Gramps?" He queried pointedly, squinting at him, then slanted his head. "Hmm?"

Frederick's eyes glassed over. He wished he could hear the silent words that seemed to be spoken through them.

"What did she know?" He pressed on, though he knew he'd get no answer. "Alright."

He rose from his squatting position and tapped the grey hat of hair on his grandfather's head. "Another day, then, I guess? You'll tell us one day. You can't die with this."

He raked a hand through his own hair, and raised his brows for a second, willing his grandfather to utter a few words. But when he got none, he lowered them, went to the door and left.

* * *

"He's a _manipulative_ bastard." Michonne was smacking toy blocks into a plastic container, each one thrown a bit harder than the first. "He knows what I'll do for this family, he knows how I'll be treated if I _don't_ do this for our family…and he puts me in this position and has the nerve to act like I have a _choice_?"

Her coworker Ezekiel Mathers was watching her as he stacked up princess chairs. It was 12 am, and the VF Child Care Center was lively, except the children wanted to do arts and crafts instead of actually playing with toys. This was unpleasant because there would be a gluey, glittery, marker-filled mess to clean up afterward.

"Yeah, he sounds like a manipulative bastard." Ezekiel reached over and caressed her shoulder. "It's going to be okay, though."

She placed her hand over his and gave a warm smile. "I appreciate that, but from how it's looking right now..." She trailed off because her eyes had slid past him and to the clock dangling from the wall behind his head.

It wasn't 12, it was 2.

"Sweet mother of Jesus." She bit down on her lip hard. "I have to be at the townhouse."

She sprang to her feet and yanked her silver clutch off a desk, grabbed her black coat and thrust both arms into it and gave Ezekiel a sympathetic look.

"Get Rosita to take over my shift, please? Sorry." She raced out of there.

* * *

The drive to the Deaux-de Vanus townhouse was rough, considering Vanity Front was rocky and muddy because it had rained earlier in the morning. Though, she found herself wondering if it was so bad when she saw the area. It was incredibly green and complemented the bluest blue sky she'd ever seen before. She parked her Lexus beside the house, feeling a bit awkward because she saw no other cars parked there.

Michonne escaped her car and headed up the colossal staircase and approached the two bronze doors. She balled her fist and knocked three times. On the wraparound porch, there was a black porch swing, two comfy-looking white pillows were fluffed there, it slightly rocked.

The place was gorgeous, probably more gorgeous than Violette H—

Michonne jumped when one of the doors clicked, interrupting her thoughts, and opened. A woman stood on the other side of the door wearing white, she must work in the house. That's how Violette House workers dressed.

The woman smiled, stepping aside, and Michonne noticed her tag read Tara. "Welcome, Miss Jesekai."

Michonne smiled back blandly and stepped through the door, into the house. It looked even bigger than its outside had looked, there were posh couches, it was an array of grey's, dim blues, whites. Nothing seemed to be walled off, not the kitchen, dining room, nor living room.

The place was empty minus a few maids scattered around.

"Um, where is everybody?" Though they weren't each other's favorite person, she had expected a more occupied welcome.

Tara, the worker, shut the door. "The Grimes are expecting you at the Grimes Family Ranch, Richard will be speaking with the Vanity Front Report. I'll call a car."

"Ranch?" Michonne laughed. "I hope they aren't expecting me to ride a horse."

Tara reached out and took her purse. "There's actually equestrian clothing waiting for you on your bed in your room, Miss Jesekai, which is directly down the hall upstairs."

Michonne laughed out loud again. "Christ."

She stalked up the curvy staircase and gasped at how spacious the hall was. It was warm, despite the cold weather, and the doors were a goldish tan. She strutted toward the last door at the end of the hall and pushed it open, the wood was soft against her hand.

Sunlight streamed through, casting a glow on her.

The room was vast, a large black bed with an even larger headboard, there were white sheets and a white comforter. A mini office to the side, an expensive-looking dresser, and a stacked, diamond chandelier above. The room was littered in suitcases and boxes.

Splayed out on the bed was an outfit on a hanger enclosed in plastic, and she approached the bed and lifted the hanger by its hook. There were white tights, a blue jacket, and she noticed that tall black boots were placed at the foot of the bed.

"Fancy."

* * *

"How long am I going to have to stall the photographers for that _damn woman_?" Richard Grimes asked gruffly, a pipe in his mouth.

Rick, who sat beside him on the long wooden bench outside of the barn slouched against the wall, said nothing to this. His eyes were shut beneath his sunglasses. He was using this moment to enjoy the distinct sounds of nature.

Just as soon as the words had left his mouth, a black car rode up in the country and parked with the other cars. Rick lowered his sunglasses. Out stepped a woman, she was dark-skinned, a wealth of braids pulled up in a high-ponytail bounced along her back. She wore close-fitting white tights and tall black boots, a short blue jacket and brown gloves.

"I'll call the journalists and photographers." Richard rose to his feet and stalked in direction of the Ranch House.

Rick also stood and started toward Michonne who was already headed his way. Her face was turned up as she trudged through muddy grass, flinging her gloved hands as if she had gotten something on them.

When she saw him, her face turned up even more and she plodded harder in his direction, continuing on her way even as he stopped to greet her.

"Hello to you too." He spoke to the empty space ahead.

Rick did a little run to catch up with her, watching her profile, which was set in a sneer.

"Are you punishing me? Is this you _having the last laugh_? A RELATIONSHIP?! You are a _fool_!" She hissed in his direction and threw herself onto the bench when they reached it.

"Punishing you?" Rick lowered himself onto the seat beside her.

"Do you…not hate me as much as _I_ hate you? How could you agree to this?" She turned her head to look where Richard was standing with a photographer crew and a few journalists outside the Ranch House. Her ponytail smacked her face when she whirled her head to look at him again, the ends of her braids were cuffed in golden beads. "I'm going to be here _all the time_. You realize that, don't you?"

"I do." Rick retrieved a toothpick from his pocket and put it in his mouth. "Maybe I don't hate you as much, or maybe I just didn't think it through. I don't know."

"Well, you should've thought it through." There was hellfire resting behind her brown eyes. "'Cause I'm going to make you hate me _so much_ , Rick Grimes."

After five minutes of sitting in silence, a horse trainer had entered the barn and Richard had escorted the photographers toward them. The horse trainer, Morgan, carried a black horse out, and photographers were already shooting pictures. The horse trainer gestured toward Michonne, and she pointed to herself in question with a scrunch of her face. The trainer nodded yes, and Michonne shook her head no.

Rick laughed inwardly.

Eventually, she'd stepped forward, clipped on a black riding helmet and stuffed her foot into the saddle's metal stirrup. She swung her legs over the horse, straddling the saddle. Michonne curved against the bucking rolls.

This was the first time he'd detected anything but anger and cheekiness. She looked nervous. Her eyes kept racing around the ranch, and her hands were shaking as they gripped the reins.

* * *

Ice gripped her stomach, and she was sweating despite the cold weather. Michonne trembled as she held onto the reins. She'd never ridden a horse, had never even sat on one. All she could think was she was going to fall, or the horse would suddenly lurch into action and throw her off.

And it couldn't help that Rick Grimes was smirking, as if something was funny.

She wanted to throw her helmet at his face.

Photos were being snapped, Richard Grimes was chatting with who she guessed was a journalist for The Vanity Front Report, and the wind was howling, and her heart was thumping. She was feeling overwhelmed, the indistinct talking, the smirk playing at that boy's lips.

"I c—I can't do this. I'm sorry. I gotta get off. I gotta get off!" She released the reins.

"Ma'am—" Began the horse trainer, stepping forward.

Michonne threw her other leg over, realizing as she neared the ground that her foot was still in the metal stirrups of the saddle, and she was about to slap face first into muddy ranch grass.

But Rick was there, and he'd caught her in his chest, her arms dangled loosely over his shoulders, his hands circling around her waist.

Michonne's chin had plonked on his shoulder, and she was blinking up at pretty ranch land and blue sky. Her cheek was pressed against his ear, against sleek curls.

When she pushed herself up using his shoulders and took in what had actually happened, for a moment, as she studied the prominent structure of the slight aquiline curve of his nose, the pale blue eyes set beneath crinkled eyelids that were flecked with darker blues and a bit of gold, the solo dark curl that hooked through his eyelashes and curved over his nose, she felt an unpleasant warmth ooze through her chest.

Unpleasant because of who'd caused it to occur.

A music seemed to play in her ears.

Michonne shoved him away and smacked to the ground, the melody faded, the white of her tights muddied with brown. Michonne kicked away the stirrup and began to her feet.

Rick, ahead of her, who she'd pushed into the mud, was dusting mud off his hands on his corduroy pants. "What, are you crazy?"

" _Are you_?" She whispered with indignity, so as not to allow the guests to hear and traipsed past him and into the Ranch House.

* * *

"So, just how upset is your father?" Michonne was picking through a brownie with her fork, stuffing pieces into her mouth. They were in the dimmed-to-a-dark Ranch House, and a few of the journalists and photographers were perched in a seat in the farther corner of the room, every few minutes they looked to her, as if they knew all of her secrets, as if they were waiting for a slip.

So, she'd joined Rick at his table, who had a permanent scowl etched into his face, his arms folded over his chest. Mud stained his arms, some of his shirt, and a bit of his chin. A plate of fries was set in front of him, half-eaten.

"You push me into mucky grass and now you're eating with me?" He snorted.

Michonne stabbed her fork into the brownie and brought a piece to her lips. "Gotta make it look real, right?"

"Right."

"So, just how upset is your father?" She repeated.

"About this relationship stunt?" Rick sighed heavily, picked up a fry and stuffed it into his mouth. "Not sure."

"No, about you and Jessie still shagging after that _very_ public breakup." She watched him as he processed what she'd said, suppressing a laugh.

Rick blinked at her. "Wh—you _told him_? You said—"

"I said I didn't want anything from you, I didn't say I wasn't going to spill the beans when I felt like it." She pushed away her empty plate and set the fork down, settling back into her seat with her arms folded.

"God, and for a moment there, I forgot that I hated you." He leaned his head against his palm.

"Shut up and smile, they're taking pictures." A wide smile spread across Michonne's lips, but her tone was laced with contempt. "And that's your fault, not mine. No one said we had to be friends. _We_ don't even want to be friends."

Rick grinned with dead eyes and went back to his fries.

Michonne raised herself from her seat ready to go back to the car, paused, and looked back at Rick. "I didn't tell him."

She walked off.

* * *

An official story about their relationship would be scheduled after more public appearances, the journalists and photographers had left the ranch and so did the Grimes men. When they'd gotten back to the townhouse, Michonne had disappeared into her room without a word.

Rick was leaning against the frame of the door to his father's study, wearing fresh jeans and a black button-up shirt that was open a few buttons. His hair was wet from a recent shower. "Are you sure about this?"

"Am I sure about what, Rick?" His father, Richard, was sliding on his reading glasses, speaking in an occupied manner, completely focused on a stack of proposals ahead of him on his desk.

"It's rather obvious Malcolm's trying to back you into a corner to push that school budget through." Rick scrutinized his father with his eyes, he never could tell what he was thinking. "Yet you advised me to accept his proposition. This all reads secret underhanded menacing revenge plot. What's your big play here?"

"Play?" His father didn't spare him a single glance, instead, he was incredibly fixated on the paper. "It's a good budget."

"You refused his big public display of peace…there's a play. And don't insult me by trying to deny it." Said Rick, unhinging himself from the wall to enter the office and sit in the chair to watch the sky, it was a small cold space, washed of any real color. It was all white.

Finally, Richard raised his eyes from his desk to look at the back of Rick's head.

"Okay. There's a play." He revealed simply.

Rick twisted his head to look at his father, squinting. "Well…tell me. What is it?"

Richard chuckled, scribbling something in the paper. "Trust me, son. In due time. _You_ focus on your new sweetheart."

Rick shook his head with a humorless chuckle. It had to be in their blood to be so mischievous.

* * *

Michonne was lying on her stomach, on the bed of her townhouse bedroom, feet up, she'd showered in her bathroom and wore a thin silky nightgown. Her suitcases were untouched, but the comforter and sheet set had been opened, she'd spread that over the mattress.

The sheets were red, and the comforter had a floral scarlet pattern. She needed something of her own to control in order to survive in the strangeness of this situation.

Her phone in her hand, she dialed in her father's number, and pressed it to her ear.

"Settling in nicely?" He queried after the click.

Michonne grabbed a braid and pursed her lips. "The Grimes' played you like a fiddle, Dad."

* * *

 **love you guys.**

 **note: this isn't an engagement or marriage.**


	3. Christmas Party

_Recap_ :

 ** _-_** _Frederick Grimes had something to do with the murder of Vanity Jesekai, but he physically can't speak for reasons unknown._

 _Michonne moves into the Deaux-de Vanus townhouse, the Grimes residence._

 ** _-_** _Rick's charms aren't lost on Michonne._

 ** _-_** _Turns out, Malcolm's attempt to blindside Richard into accepting the sham relationship between their children (by secretly consorting with his son, Rick) or risk losing his saintly social standing was a failure. Richard was the one who advised Rick to accept the relationship proposition in the first place._

 _\- Richard admits to having a plan of his own for Malcolm but won't tell Rick._

 _\- An observant Michonne tells her father the Grimes men are playing him._

 ** _The Christmas Party_**

"The Grimes' played you like a fiddle, Dad."

The line was completely quiet for a long moment.

"Dad?"

"Why do you think that?"

If he was feeling the slightest bit unnerved, she couldn't tell. He was like that. You couldn't tell if he was fazed. She'd always wished she could do that, to look and feel okay when you're not okay.

"I feel like Richard was the one who told Rick to accept your proposition. Calling for a photo op my first day as Rick's fake girlfriend?" She spoke in a hushed tone, craning her neck to watch the door to her bedroom, which was shut. She didn't know what she was looking for. "You could say he was trying to assimilate, but this is a man who _loathes_ you. I mean, you ruined his murderer father's entire _legacy_ , made his life hell until the day he _died_. And all the behind-the-scenes things you pulled on his family…"

"For good reason."

"I know." She sighed, leaning on her palm. "But he didn't seem the least bit upset today. In fact, he looked strangely okay with it all."

" _Hmm_."

"Alright, what do you want to do? Do you want to call it off? It was a small story in the paper, just a few pictures. It's not too late to kill it."

"No." He put sternly. "No, everything continues. Just keep your eyes peeled."

She nodded quickly. "And what are you going to do about it?"

"You'll know when I do."

* * *

Rick was seated on a hard stool, in the space ahead of his bed and where the sunlight from the window shone brightly on him. He balanced an art palette in one hand, it carried a beautiful array of cool shades faintly graduating from one to another. He dabbed his brush into a blend of blues and greens and pressed it to the empty base of the easel pad ahead of him, and his wrist worked expertly.

He tilted his head for a stroke, and instead found himself looking through his slightly opened door where his father walked past.

Rick set the brush on the palette, got to his feet, and set those on the stool.

He stepped out of his room and shut it carefully so as not to awake their guests and saw that Richard was harshly working a key in Frederick's door with a jingle.

"This is the third time you've left this door unlocked." He looked to Rick with hard eyes, speaking low. "If you aren't going to be responsible enough to lock up after yourself, stop seeing him. You know who we have in the house now." He gestured toward Michonne's door with wide, attentive eyes.

Rick shrugged, uncaring, and padded toward the staircase. "Just move him, then."

"You know why I can't." His father grabbed his shoulder.

Rick rose his brows, sighing irritably and they headed down the stairs, Richard behind him.

They stepped down into the living room, where it was occupied with a party décor company's employee, they were hooking red silk curtains into the windows, replacing the basic white and grey ones. A worker was looping multicolored Christmas lights around a broody towering Christmas tree.

"You really aren't going to let me in on this big plan business?" Rick watched Richard with his hands in his pockets as his father approached the front door, opened it and stepped out onto the porch. "I can keep a secret."

Richard looked at him over his shoulder, Rick realized he'd put a cigarette in his mouth, and chuckled slightly. "No, I'm not."

"Father—" Rick stepped closer to the door.

Richard's serious eyes made him stiffen.

"Don't bring this up again." He planted his index finger on his chest hard. " _Ever_."

* * *

"Tonight is a big night." Said Michonne, stirring her steaming hot chocolate with a peppermint stick. She was seated across from Sasha Williams, her childhood friend and Ezekiel in Sweeting café. Comforted by the thick red turtleneck and green puff ball beanie she wore.

"Is it?" Sasha looked from Ezekiel to Michonne with question.

"Yep." Michonne spoke over the rim of her warm mug. " _If_ the Vanity Front population hasn't already gotten the gist from those terribly cozy ranch photos I saw in the paper, they'll get it tonight. Rick and I are officially announcing ourselves as a couple tonight at the party."

Ezekiel rose his brows, an unreadable shock evident in his eyes. "Wow. Really?"

"Party?" Sasha echoed.

"The Grimes' Christmas party." Michonne padded her nails against the cup. "Oh yeah, about that, I wanted to invite the both of you."

Sasha squinted at her with slight incredulity. "Invite us…?"

"To...a _Grimes_ Christmas party?" Ezekiel finished her sentence with the same amount of incredulity in his eyes.

"Trust me, I never thought I'd ever utter that sentence either," she shrugged, sipping her drink. "But I need some familiar faces to keep me sane."

Sasha sighed, forking through her pancakes. "I'll come."

"Me too," Ezekiel settled back into his seat. " I really can't believe Malcolm is really allowing this…"

Michonne zoned out, watching the window to the café, at the vibrant sky, and its lack of snow. No snow on Christmas.

It really bothered her.

* * *

Michonne was standing outside the Deaux-de Vanus house, her arms were packed with several black garment bags, she'd been shopping at all the luxury places in town for a gown for the party. _Posh, Aria, Bochane_. Her arms too occupied to unlock the door with her own key, she managed three hard knocks.

She shivered as the door flung open, and over the heaps of bags she could make out Rick. He was wearing a black sweater and tan pants, his hair was slicked back on his head, including the lone curl that always drooped over his eyes and nose.

"Oh. It's you." He said dryly.

She scoffed, and he turned his back and walked in direction of the kitchen. Michonne entered the house, kicking the door shut with her boot.

"Good," she spoke with strain as she slung the mass of heavy garment bags on a couch. "You're still upset about that muddy grass business, now something good will come out of me kissing you."

The house wasn't as empty as she had last seen it, decorators were working on a tree, hanging bells and wreaths, it was an assortment of decorations that weren't lit. She felt an excitement in her chest for the final look.

Rick, who was in the white kitchen, bent into the fridge, looked over his shoulder at her. "Excuse me?"

Michonne shrugged, stepping up into the kitchen and approaching his side at the refrigerator. She reached past him and pulled out a tub of strawberries.

"Those are my strawberries."

She ignored him.

"It's pretty obvious we're going to have to kiss tonight." She climbed up onto a stool and popped open the lid of the strawberries. She bit into one. "The thought of being pressed against you while you despise every part of my being actually warms my heart to its _greatest_ content."

"You are a sick woman." He came away with nothing, shutting the fridge with his eyes on her.

"You're a Grimes. That's worse." She ate the strawberries with pleasure.

It was silent.

"I'm not sleeping with Jessie." He said, out of the blue.

Michonne, who nearly choked on a strawberry, blinked at him. "What?"

"I'm not sleeping with Jessie." He repeated, pulling himself up onto the stool across from her.

"Yeah, my poor eyes beg to differ." She shut the case and hopped down from her stool, approaching the fridge again and putting it back inside.

" _Slept_ with. Did and done." He folded his arms on the table, turning over to look at her. "I argued with my father that night, saw her across the room of the Violette House, old rebellious feelings rushed back, and, well, you know how that ended. So, there's really nothing for you to torture me with."

She scrutinized him, squinting as she leaned against the counter. "I'll decide that. By the way, what are you wearing tonight?"

" _Bochane_."

"What _color_ , you insufferable—"

"Black, of course." He hopped down from the stool. "Oh, and please don't take forever to get ready, I already have enough reasons to hate you."

* * *

There were three dresses to choose from.

Three.

One was a knee-length green velvet dress with spaghetti straps and a slit at the thigh. The second was a vibrant silk red slip dress but she feared it revealed too much thigh. And the third was a simple black strapless dress.

They were laid out on her bed, and Michonne stood ahead of them with a thoughtful finger to her chin. Her hair had been unhooked from its high ponytail and the braids spilled freely down her back and her makeup was simple, a deep red lipstick and some brown eyeshadow. She'd usually had a styling team for this, but she simply didn't possess the energy to make calls.

It couldn't help that music was booming through the Deaux-de Vanus home, distracting her from her thoughts. Michonne rolled her eyes and with a heavy sigh, headed out of her bedroom.

"You know, for someone who nagged me about taking forever,"—Michonne was padding across the corridor to Rick's door, which was cracked open. _Last Christmas_ was thumping from his speakers—"you sure are taking your sweet…time…"

She nearly lost her words at the sight ahead of her, through the slight crack of his door.

Rick, ahead of a vanity table, was dancing in front of the mirror. The room was well-lit, so she could make out every detail. He was combing his hair back on his head, a toothpick hanging out the side of his mouth, swaying his hips, twirling. He lipped the song as he danced, smiling at himself.

Watching him, something trickled through her chest. Something…warm. The same thing that'd crept up and attacked her at the ranch when he'd held her.

And the edges of her lips threatened a smile.

Michonne breathed in hard and pressed her back to the cold space between each of the doors, the chill trickled up her spine and she gazed at the ceiling above her, breathing hard. She scrunched her eyes shut, trying to find some balance, but the cozy feeling was resting right in her chest.

She balled her fists hard, nails digging into her palms until it was gone, and she could only feel the cold of the hall. The music boomed as she made her way back to her room. Stopping when she saw that light was pooling from under the door between Rick's and her own.

She knew that Richard and his wife lived on the other side of the house, so she furrowed her brows curiously. Who could live there?

Michonne pressed her hand to the door, oblivious to the silence as the music stopped, and a hand grasped hers, spinning her until her back was once again pressed to a wall.

Rick was so close, and icy blue eyes were piercing her own.

He released her hand. "What do you think you're doing?"

She was trying to catch her breath, while gazing at him in bewilderment.

"Why did you react like that?" She asked breathlessly, her gaze jumping from his eyes to his mouth.

"I asked what you were doing." His eyes were serious, not a playful fleck in them.

Her eyes slid back to the door she'd touched. "What's in there?"

"Michonne…" His tone carried a warning note, and he stepped closer, his head slanting and top lip hardening.

"Nothing." She decided. "Nothing, I heard a noise."

Rick's gaze softened, and he stepped back, watching her for a moment.

"Hmm." He pursed his lips before he went back to his bedroom. This time, he shut it completely.

* * *

"We shouldn't allow this." Sasha was clutching a wrapped tray of brownies in her arms. "We'd be terrible friends if we did."

"You're saying expose it?" Ezekiel rose his brows. "We shouldn't."

They were in a taxi, night loomed up above with a glowing moon set in.

"She's boxed into a corner, Zeke." Sasha watched through the window and then back at him. "She can't do this herself. We have to do it for her. I'm thinking we pull a reporter to the side or something."

"I don't know about this." He crinkled his face.

"Really?" She rose her brows. "You want the woman you've been pining after for two years stuck in a relationship with someone she hates?"

"This is important shit between these two families. Involving ourselves would be foolish." Ezekiel set back in his seat. "Remember, someone died over this."

* * *

She was less spooked and more curious about that room Rick had basically warned her to stay away from. She just needed a way to get inside. Michonne stepped down the stairs into a crowded party, a figure in every corner of the room. She recognized townspeople she knew like Carol Peletier, Andrea Harrison and Gary Temple.

In the end, she'd chosen the velvet green dress, and it hugged her form comfortably. Her braids were stacked on her head with sparkling pins. Michonne looked through the heaps of people for Sasha or Ezekiel but couldn't see them.

Up ahead, she realized that the crowd was focused on Richard. He was speaking in front of the silky red curtains, sporting a black sweater like the one Rick wore. She caught the tail-end of what he was saying.

"…support my son's decisions. I sincerely believe this brings about a long-awaited reconciliation between two ridiculously stubborn families." He laughed that fake laugh.

Michonne worked her way through the crowd to get a closer look until she saw that Rick was standing beside Richard, and when he saw her, shot her a look and gestured for her to head up to them.

This was it. The big reveal.

Michonne breathed deeply, she didn't understand the nervousness she felt as she stepped up beside Rick, watching the expressions on the faces of her neighbors. The confusion, the skepticism, the shock.

Rick's fingertips brushed her hand before he took it in his, smiling widely. "Everyone's so surprised, and so are we. We didn't know that this could create so much love between our families, which is why we hid it for so long."

He looked to Michonne with expectant brows raised.

She caressed the back of Rick's hand with her thumb and leaned into him.

"If we had known that this would be received so warmly by our families, we'd have never kept it a secret." She gazed up at Rick, a warm smile on her face with an impish look in her eyes. "I'm madly in love with him…"

Michonne slightly puckered her lips, nudging his ankle with her foot as if to say, ' _Now kiss me_.'

Rick blinked at her, nudging back, but still leaned into her. She was enjoying this, the stiff, unwilling look on his face, she knew, was his annoyance that she had somehow found a way to enjoy it. His lips neared her face, lingering for a moment, only to press against her cheek.

He pulled away, smiling. "Everyone please have an amazing evening."

She blinked at him joylessly.

He nodded at the crowd, walking off with Michonne, hand in hand.

* * *

"You should've kissed me, you _imbecile_." She shot at Rick furiously the second they'd entered the less crowded corridor, roughly yanking her hand from his and grabbing a drink from a passing server's tray. She began downing the wine against the wall until it was empty, and she set it on the floor.

Rick leaned on the wall beside her, watching her in amusement. "Oh, did you really want one that bad?"

She smacked his shoulder with her jeweled hand. "They would've bought it completely if you had just kissed me, you moronic b—"

"Aht, _aht_." He held up his index finger in the air between them. "We're at a party, honey."

She frustratingly ran a hand over her forehead.

Rick spotted Richard in the other corner of the corridor and left Michonne's side to join his.

He was silent, drinking a glass of eggnog.

"You outdid yourself, Dad." He sipped his own drink.

"You think?" Richard raised his brows.

Rick smiled, nodding, when he saw his father's expression drop at the sight of something past him.

He turned and saw that at the entryway on the other side of the wide hall, a woman had entered, blonde tresses spilling down her shoulders. She was wearing a brown slip dress.

Jessie.

" _What is she doing here?"_ Richard hissed.

Rick crinkled his brows. "I…don't know."

He stepped back over to Michonne, whose splendor he hadn't fully grasped. She was fit into a dark green velvet dress, her braids pulled up a bun and it glistered in sparkling clips while diamond teardrop earrings dangled from her ears. She was dazzling, and she looked amused, a grin had spread across her face.

"Oh, look here, it's the girl you're _not_ sleeping with at _your_ party." She gestured toward Jessie, stifling a laugh.

He shook his head at Jessie in genuine confusion.

"Why is she here?" He asked to no one in particular.

"You tell me. Looks like she didn't get the memo. Or…you didn't give it." She smirked and opened her mouth again to say, he guessed, something even ruder—but Jessie's head was shifting to turn their way, and Rick had already stepped out to slip his hand behind her head, into her wealth of braids, tilted his head to fit hers and closed the space between them.

His lips caressed hers gently, and she melted beneath him, her arms falling at her sides as he angled his face to kiss her deeper, bringing his other hand up to clutch the back of her head with both hands.

He broke contact, their lips parting with a smack, and his thumbs were on her cheeks, his gaze lingered for a moment before he dropped his hands.

"There." He moved to her side, unconcerned and unnerved. "She's gone."

And she was. The space Jessie had been standing in was empty. Michonne couldn't tell if she was gone because she'd seen him kiss her, or if she hadn't recognized him and left. But she didn't care, she was stupefied.

"You can't just kiss me like that." Croaked a stunned Michonne, staring into open space with kissed lips.

He looked at her weirdly. "Weren't you just complaining that I didn't?"

She didn't answer, shot him an offended look and walked off.

"Wh…?" Rick looked around, confused.

* * *

Rick had disappeared somewhere and Michonne was slouched on a couch, drinking up an extremely delicious hot chocolate, simultaneously chewing on some peppermint, bobbing her head to the Christmas music. She watched the Christmas tree, admiring the lights and ornaments and the ways about it. She wondered why there weren't any gifts.

She also wondered why she seemed to be enjoying herself, in this moment, with these people, in this house. This Grimes house.

Ahead, she saw through the crowds and lights, Sasha and Ezekiel were entering the house. Sasha was lugging a tray in her hand.

Seeing them, it felt as though a cold bucket of water were being washed over her face. She was reminded of what actually was, and she stopped dancing, looked around, then down at herself.

Looking up to find Ezekiel and Sasha again, her eyes on landed on one of the windows. And through the window she could see a plain wooden bench, rain was trickling on it.

 _The_ bench.

Rain-flooded memories washed back like a cold shower, the coldest blue eyes gazed at her again, and for a moment, she felt the exact same way she'd felt in that moment in time. That _terrible_ moment in time.

Hollow. Dead.

Her lip trembled against the cup of hot chocolate and she set it down on a table, and weakly walked upstairs, wanting to collapse on her bed.

But she saw the room again, the room Rick had warned her away from and she wanted nothing more than to break it open to see what he was hiding. Michonne squinted at the door, before approaching it and slipping the hair pin from her braids, they flopped down and snaked over her shoulders.

She didn't know what she was doing, but still, she stuffed the thin needle-point ends into the keyhole. She twisted, twiddled, and shook for a long time. Until, with a definite click, it was unlocked. She closed her hand around the knob and pushed it open.

The room was dimmed to a dark, with very little furniture and moonlight spilled through the window, casting a glow on a figure that sat ahead of the tall windows. She was confused, sticking the pin back into her head randomly as she crossed the room when she realized it was a wheelchair and someone was slumped over in it.

"Hello?" She called out, moving closer to the chair and lifting the slanted head up.

He was a man with grey hair, and moonlight shone on his blue eyes, those haunted blue eyes and a panic rose in her chest at the spell of familiarity that she became engulfed with.

"But…" Her bottom lip dropped out.

It was him.

It was Frederick Grimes.

She gasped, her chest tightened, and she stumbled back in bewilderment as if he'd burned her.

"You're supposed to be dead."

She backed out of the room and into the chest of someone, she whirled around praying it wasn't Rick and just a random guest from the party, but it was Richard, and his eyes were dark.

"What were you doing in there?"

"I—I was lost." She swallowed, clutching her bare arms. "I didn't know there was another guest here. Who is that?"

She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at the man in the wheelchair.

"No one. You should be downstairs with Rick instead of snooping around."

 _Liars,_ was all she could think in the moment. _That's all they were good for, lies and schemes and deceit._ She couldn't stand them.

"Speaking of Rick…" she looked up at him, with firm lips, her only leverage and she was going to waste it all. "There's something you should know."

* * *

Though lots of guests had already left, the party still seemed to go on. Music still thumped through the house but Michonne sat in the corner, absent-minded, numb. Her mind was blank.

When a grip as hard as steel latched on her upper shoulder, she looked up in surprise. It was Rick. He looked angrier than he had ever looked, and he lugged her out of the corner, through the side door and into the rain.

"I hope you're happy." Rick spoke through rain in a steely voice as it slipped down his eyes and into his mouth.

She shrugged, hugging her shoulders as rain dribbled and plonked on her nose and forehead. "I am."

" _You j_ —what the—" He turned away as if he couldn't believe what was happening, laughing into the rain lugubriously, then turned back to her. "You know…if this was one of your attempts to ' _make me hate you so much_ '? Well done. You succeeded. _Congrats_!" His voice was muffled but even through the rain, it made her flinch. He walked off into the night, leaving Michonne wet and shivering and ashamed.

He walked off into the night, leaving Michonne wet and shivering and ashamed.

* * *

Through the window, Michonne could see as guests gradually left and the house emptied out. She was surprised at how clean everything managed to remain, the carpets were perfect, the curtains, perfect. But she stayed out there until the rain stopped and she heard the door to the house click.

"Rick?" Michonne stepped back in through the side door, looking around for him. "Rick, don't ignore me, I heard you come in."

At first, she thought the area was empty, but to her side, she saw dark movement and she whirled in surprise. Standing by the Christmas tree was a black figure. It wore a dark brown ski mask and heavily padded dark clothing, and in its hand something sparked. A gun.

A scream rose to her throat as she practically threw herself at the stairs, but he was faster. He grabbed onto her arm, a grip harder than Rick's, and she wrestled for her freedom in a fit of braids and screams until he released her arm and she was sent plunging to the ground. With a crack, she hit the hard edge of the single-stair entrance to the living room.


	4. Ann Du Val Ball

_Recap:_

 _\- Rick is an artist, a painter._

 _\- Frederick is apparently supposed to be dead, but judging from last chapter, he isn't, and he's living in the Deaux-de Vanus townhouse._

 _\- Once again, Michonne finds herself attempting to escape her attraction to Rick._

 _\- Michonne's interest is piqued by a mysterious guest's room, and Rick reacts suspiciously._

 _\- Rick kisses Michonne to avoid Jessie seeing him._

 _\- According to Sasha, Ezekiel has been pining over Michonne._

 _\- Just when Michonne and Rick are warming up to each other in their own way, Michonne gets slapped with reality when she remembers a past event that made her feel hollow, an event involving cold blue eyes, a bench, and rain._

 _\- Interest piqued, Michonne breaks into the room of the mysterious guest, and finds out that Frederick Grimes is, in fact, alive._

 _\- Angry at the Grimes family, when Richard catches Michonne on her way out of Frederick's room, she tells him something about Rick._

 _\- An upset Rick tells Michonne she succeeded in making him hate her based on whatever she told Richard about him._

 _\- Michonne catches a man in a ski-mask at the townhouse with a gun, when she attempts to escape, he grabs her, then releases her, and she falls roughly._

 ** _Ann Du Val Ball_**

Vanity Jesekai's body was discovered lying face-first in the white sand of Willbury beach by her 25-year-old brother Malcolm. There were signs of struggle, torn and bloody fingernails, facial bruising, her official cause of death was strangulation. Her trachea had been crushed with a blunt object, which was nowhere to be found.

There was no evidence pointing to who had actually committed the crime, so it was never solved. No one was ever put away for her murder.

Lying there on the stair in that Grimes house, it was all Michonne could think about as her arm and head pounded in pain. The cold wooden floorboards beneath her bare knees and legs became gritty pale sand, and the well-lit living room air above was a dark night with a moon set and aglow. In the blur of her vision, she saw the assailant flee, heard a car turn over and then everything was dead silent.

Though she was conscious, her body wouldn't move. She didn't know if she was afraid of dislocating her shoulder which was angled unnaturally, or if she just couldn't move, but she felt planted to the ground, blinking away blood that leaked and dried in her lashes. It pooled the space beneath her head.

Everything after that practically blended together. Richard was there, he was asking if she was okay, lugging her up in his arms and then he was carrying her out of the house. She remembered being laid in the back of a fancy car, the houseworker Tara was beside her, worried, asking her a million questions that she couldn't remember. She recalled a long and bumpy car ride, and then the annoyingly bright white appearance of the Vanity Front Medical Center.

Rolling into the ER was also a blur, so were the faces of the doctors as they asked questions and she answered. Everything went black, and then she was awake. Her eyelids felt like heavy tarp as she flapped them open, grimacing at the bright white lights of the hospital room she lay in.

She shifted her head to look down at herself and saw that she was wearing a light pink hospital gown with floral print. Michonne saw that beneath the thin fabric her shoulder was wrapped in gauze. In the corner, across the room by the window she saw a clear plastic bag and inside it was a heap of green velvet, a sparkle of jewelry and black heels.

But at the foot of her bed, in a chair against the wall, was Richard.

He wasn't sleeping, but he hadn't noticed she had awakened. He was leaning against the arm of the chair, staring into the open space with eyes she couldn't read.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?" She grumbled, her voice sounded rough and grating even to her own ears as she strained herself into a seated position, pangs of red-hot pain vibrating through her skull. "Come to see your handiwork?"

Richard's eyes blinked toward her and he folded his arms with his brow cocked. "My handiwork?"

"Well, it wasn't a bad fall, but you knew that." Michonne threw her legs over the bed, wincing, it was like her body had been fixed in the same position for a long time and she was finally moving it. "That man…"

"So, it _was_ an attack." Richard leaned forward in his chair. "A man."

"Your thug." She got to her feet, stuffing her feet into fluffy slippers that were parked beside her bed. She faced the man in her room. "He had a gun, but he didn't use it. You _really_ sent him to scare me. What if guests had still been there? That was disappointingly sloppy, Richard."

"Miss Jesekai, you're not making any sense."

Michonne turned her incredulous eyes on him and dragged herself to the foot of the bed to stand in front of him, supporting herself on the edge of the bed with her hand.

"Really? You didn't do this?" She chuckled silently. "It was pretty convenient. A few hours after I see your—after I'm caught snooping…I'm attacked?"

Richard suddenly got to his feet, approaching her with dark, serious eyes. "Choose your next words carefully."

"Or what?" She cocked her head at him, boldness blazing. "Are you going to murder me like Frederick murdered Vanity?"

The air was tight, so tight that she was secretly shaking beneath her fearless visage. His hand came up to rest on her shoulder, the injured one, and it began to throb.

"Don't you ever say his name with that _whore_ in the same sentence." Richard's gaze was ice cold, it sent a chill down her spine. Her lip dropped out as she gasped in pain, lowering herself to sit on the bed.

He released his hand, the pressure with it, staring in surprise for a moment as if he had forgotten her arm was wounded when he touched it. "Get dressed so I can take you home."

"Home?"

"The townhouse."

She gazed at him with hard eyes. "Where's Rick?"

"Somewhere drinking away his uselessness." He sighed. "Thank you for telling me about Jessie, by the way."

She opened her mouth to defend Rick, but the words wouldn't escape her.

"You're welcome." She offered instead, and then stared up at him with genuine eyes. "You really didn't do it."

"I didn't." He said, turning away. "I hear your father outside."

She nodded, watching as he opened the door. On the other side was her father. Richard and Malcolm shared a look as they passed each other, it was a tense look, and there was so much history behind it that Michonne didn't understand. So much hostility, so much emotion. Then Richard was gone, and Malcolm was shutting the door behind him.

" _Mishie_." He stepped forward and placed a hand on her arm and reached the other up to her head, he caressed where, she saw in the mirror against the wall, was her stitched head. It was small wound, so close to her hairline, it would be easy to cover. "You okay, baby?"

She shut her eyes, finding a bit of comfort in being in a familiar presence. "I don't know…I…"

Then her eyes snapped open, and she stared at him, perplexed. Her thoughts churned, scenes replaying through her head. The way she'd fallen, the man who'd attacked her. She stood from the bed, backing away from his touch.

"Oh, my _god_."

He looked confused. "What?"

"This…was _you_ …" She spoke in an almost whisper, her face was contorted in disgusted realization. "You _did_ this. You sent that guy!"

"You're not making any sense, Michonne." He shook his head, but in his eyes, she saw the truth. That faraway look. She knew the look because she possessed it herself.

"No. I—I told you that Richard was…and then that man…" Her thoughts were scrambling together like puzzles, pieces were falling into place as she spoke. "You _sent_ that man!"

"Baby…" He tried to step closer, but she held out her hand and a fat tear unintentionally dribbled out of her eye.

"This was you panicking." She remembered their phone call. "I told you Richard had the upper hand, that he knew exactly what you were doing, and you panicked. You sent a man with a gun when you knew I was in that house."

"Look, Michonne." He shook his head. "I had no choice—"

"You put me in danger. I could've been _killed_!" She couldn't help the wetness that spilled down her face or the dull ache in her chest. "Over this _stupid family drama_. Get out!"

"Now, Michonne, just—"

"Get the _hell_ out!"

When he left, she slid down the wall, her face in her hands, melting into a heap of gloom.

* * *

It was early when Rick came home, locked up behind him and turned to face a small pool of blood dribbling down the platform separating the living room from the foyer. His heart lurched at all the possible scenarios that could have resulted in this setting.

He shuffled his pants for his phone, pulled it out and dialed his father. His heart threatened to break through his rib cage as he waited for him to pick up. When he did, he breathed a breath of relief.

"Father." He breathed. "What the hell happened? Is Gramps okay?"

"It's not your grandfather. It was Michonne."

"What?" He turned in question. "What happened?"

"Apparently, some man attacked her." His father paused. "Where the hell were you?"

"Out." He waited to add: "With Daryl." With a cringe.

Richard scoffed.

"Well, is she okay?"

"Yes, it was nothing serious. She busted her head, had to get stitches. Nearly dislocated her arm. You know, you could've been there to help her."

"Let's not play the blame game right now." He breathed deeply. "Is she coming back?"

"I'm not sure." His father spoke in a hushed tone, Rick swore he heard faint yelling. "From the sounds of it, her father had something to do with it. So, chances are, she won't be."

" _What the hell_?"

"I don't know. Get that mess cleaned up and when I get back…we're moving your grandfather."

* * *

For the first few days after the attack, Michonne couldn't function, couldn't bear the thought of her father having had anything to do with it. She hadn't gone back to Violette House or the Deaux-de Vanus townhouse. Instead, she'd been living in Sasha's loft on a pink couch.

She had so much to think about. So much to decide after discovering that information. Like whether she'd continue to help her father's mayoral duties. She didn't know if she could. But everything was telling her to go back, and she wasn't sure if it was just her devotion to her father.

She'd gotten an email from Richard's camp about the ball later tonight. The _Ann Du Val_ ball. The Grimes were offered a joint invitation. Grimes + Michonne Jesekai. They advised her to come. She wasn't sure that she wanted to, but if she didn't it would raise many questions.

She lied there on the plush pink couch staring at the plain white ceiling of the loft.

"You can't stay on my couch forever." It was Sasha, coming from the kitchen with a tray of two mugs. "You're gonna have to go home and forgive your father."

"No, I don't." Michonne said sternly, sitting up and taking one of the mugs.

She took a sip. It was ginger tea. She made a face.

"He's your father."

"He's a disappointing sack of shit."

"Michonne!" Sasha shook her head as she dropped down beside her on the couch. "Can you blame him? He didn't know what to do. People _are_ allowed to panic."

"He could've panicked better." Michonne took another sip, enjoying the burn in the back of her throat. "And he could have discussed it with me. _I_ was there. Do you not realize the situation? He sent a man with a gun to do God knows what to Richard, and I got injured instead."

"All I'm saying is give him another chance."

"Yeah….no thanks." Michonne sighed, breathing in the smell of ginger. "Now, I have to decide if I want to go to the ball, which basically means helping my father look better in the media."

"The Ann Du Val ball?"

"Yeah. Were you invited?"

"Basically," Sasha settled back into her chair. "I mean, the coordinators are paying me and Glenn to film the event."

For an odd reason, Rick's face flashed in her eyes and she was reminded of that rainy Christmas night, the anger—no, the hurt in his eyes. He looked as if he hadn't expected her to rat him out to his father, and for some odd reason that made her feel terrible. She hadn't seen him since then, and he hadn't seen her. He couldn't even if he wanted to because he didn't know where she was.

" _God, Rick_." She whispered into her hand.

"Huh?"

"Nothing. It's just…yeah, I-I think I'm going."

That was a reason to go. A good reason. To apologize to Rick.

In the end, she'd called up her stylist and makeup artist a quarter to 5, and they'd flooded the loft. She came away with a frilly blood red gown that blossomed around her like a rose and swept the floors. Her feet were set in black glossy kitten heels and her hair was swept over her forehead to cover the stitches there while the rest of the braids spilled down her back.

* * *

The sky threatened darkness as Rick and Richard stepped out of the limo and onto the sidewalk ahead of the ballroom, the Grimes men wore dark pants, black ties and a silk gold blazer to top it all off.

Richard adjusted his collars. "You think she'll make it?"

"You never know with that woman." Rick said, as they headed for the doors.

A limo pulled up behind theirs, a heeled foot stepped onto the pavement, and then in a ruffle of scarlet Michonne stepped out. She wore a frilly red dress that rayed out around her, faint gauze could be seen on her shoulder. She looked like she was wearing a rose. A small sparkling bag with a chain handle was dangling from her shoulder, her hair was down and long. When she saw him, she shut the limo door and clicked over.

"Hey." Her voice was soft, and as she got closer, he appreciated her beauty. The perfect curve of her nose, the sharp angle of her jaw, and her pretty eyes.

"Oh." He said blandly, and then sighed deeply, cursing his ethics. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Chain earrings with double stars clipped at the ends twinkled in her ears, they made a clinking sound.

Rick held his arm out and he realized as she looped hers through his that long black gloves were pulled onto her hands with a lace band. The threesome headed into the ballroom together.

"Where were you?" He asked, listening to the click of her heels against the marble structure.

The room was gorgeous, delicate drapes with intricate glowing patterns, the walls were padded with some expensive beaded design, there were white tables with chairs in one corner and an empty floor for the dancing in the other. Calm piano music played low in the speakers.

"At a friend's house, we— _wait_ , why are you being nice to me?" Her brows were knitted. "I thought you'd be mad."

"Well, I'd be a real ass if I didn't make sure you were okay before I brought hell down on you, now wouldn't I?" He offered a bland smile.

"So, you're mad." She looked disappointed, nodding slowly with her lips pressed together.

"Yes. But this is a snazzy event, so I'm trying to hold it together."

"Right." She sighed, he swore he saw a bit of vulnerability in a fleck of her eyes. "Look, Rick—"

"Michonne." He stopped her abruptly, and then physically stopped walking. "Stop. Stop talking."

"Well, _okay_." She shot back. "If you don't want an apology, I'm not gonna bend over backwards to give it."

"You're right. I don't _want_ your apology, I just want to get out of here. Away from these people."

"Away from me." She said.

"Yes."

She scoffed. "Wow."

"Why do you sound surprised?" He crinkled his brows. "It was like this before."

"No…no, it wasn't." She shook her arm out of his to walk away, her dresses flouncing around her.

"Yes, it was." He caught her gloved hand in his to spin her back into him, their noses barely brushed. "What is wrong with you?"

"Things change." Her eyes held a look he didn't understand. She looked like he'd hurt her feelings. This close, he could smell her vanilla scent as her voice turned hard. "But apparently, not you."

She yanked her hand out of his once again and flounced away.

* * *

Michonne was in the corner of the ballroom at a table, sipping from a flask she'd sneaked in with her purse. In the other corner, she saw Sasha and her friend, who she guessed was Glenn setting up camera equipment. She saw that Sasha was gesturing for her to get up and head somewhere. When her eyes turned, she realized she was talking about the people who had got into position, holding hands, for dancing. She hadn't realized the music had begun.

Michonne wasn't in the mood, but Sasha kept gesturing, so she stuffed the flask back into her bag and set that on ground. Michonne got to her feet, hauling her red dress with her toward the dancing area. Then realized, with a jolt, that she had no one to dance with. She looked around, swallowing hard, a few eyes kept glancing at her.

She hated him.

After everything, he was going to leave her humiliated on the ballroom floor even if it wasn't his fault, even if he didn't know that it was time to dance. She still hated him deeply in that moment. She turned, rushing away.

Someone's fingertips brushed hers, and then took her hand into their hands fully. She stood there, and stepped into position, her eyes on the ground. She knew it was him, but she felt guilty for hating him, so kept her eyes low and away from his.

"You know this routine?" His voice was low.

She swallowed. "Yes. But I'm rusty."

"Just follow my lead, then."

His foot stepped out, and she followed. His foot to the right, she stepped to the side too. The steps continued, until they faced each other, hands held in the air, and then stepped into each other. He placed his hand behind her shoulder, and she placed hers over his arm.

"What's your father planning?" She asked as they swept across the ballroom floor in an orbit of silky gold and fiery red.

Rick's eyes flicked over to hers. "Hmm?"

"'Hmm?'" She echoed before rolling her eyes. "I know you didn't accept my father's proposition yourself. I'm not stupid."

"You are if you think that's true."

"Come on, Rick." She leaned into him to whisper, her cheek pressing against his face, near his ear as they stepped across the floor fluidly, her voice low and sultry. "Do I have to beat it out of you?"

She pulled back and stared at him, spinning with him to the slow, romantic ballroom music.

" _I'm going to regret this_." He said low to himself, then tugged at his collar and looked into her eyes, clearing his throat. "Fine. You're right."

"So, you lied to me."

"Which time?"

She pressed on his foot with her heel, specifically at his toes.

"Ow!"

"When I asked why you agreed to this fake relationship, and you said that maybe you didn't hate me as much." She missed a step, and nearly slipped through his hold, but his firm grip held her up.

"What, you thought I found you _so_ charming after that Violette House business that I decided I wanted to be your faux beau indefinitely?" He raised his brows, slightly amused.

"Yes."

"Oh?" He grinned down at her with charming eyes.

"No. You ass." She shook her head.

* * *

The dancing had ended, and Rick was heading to a corner with his phone in his hand, but Michonne was on his heels, the fluff of her red gown feathering around her like bloody clouds. Rick leaned against the frame of a closet door.

"Rick, _come on_." She whined irritably as she reached the corner. "Just tell me what Richard has up his sleeve."

"What, so you can run and go tell daddy?" He unhinged himself from the frame and slipped his phone back into the pocket of his pants. "You're good at that, actually."

"And here we go." She sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Here we go." He straightened his collar with hard blue eyes.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" She said, her gaze going from his eyes to his feet, making gestures with her hands. "I told him about Jessie because I was…in a _mood_ …and-and you never did anything like that to me, so I _know_ , I'm mean and malicious, I'm terrible and you hate me." She rambled. "Now can you get over it, so we can go back to—?"

"What—you think I'm only mad about _Jessie_?" He looked astounded, his face twisted in incredulousness, he asked it as if it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "That was pretty low and shabby, but he'd have gotten over that. You _broke_ into that room—"

"Oh. _That_." She turned away, shaking her head with a hand on her hip, then back to him. "I'm not going to apologize for being curious, Rick. You practically _pushed_ me to open that door."

"Open? You broke in!" He held his arms out.

"That whole push-you-against-the-wall and put the fear of God in you with my eyes business?" She crinkled her nose as she spoke. "You had it coming!"

"Yeah, I bet." He leaned back against the frame, his tone lowering. "I hope you're happy."

"You keep saying that." She dropped her hand from her hip. "Of COURSE I'm not happy about this. About any of it."

"Neither am I."

She stepped closer to him. "Why are you protecting him?"

"Who?" Once again, he got off the wall.

"Your grandfather." They were a step away from each other, and what she said made him stiffen. "I saw him. You know what he _did_ —"

"Don't talk to me about him." He tilted his head, then turned away from her.

"Rick—" She reached out to touch his elbow.

"Don't touch me." He shook his arm away from her.

"Why? What are you gonna do, Rick?" She kept grasping for his elbow, then his arm, even his back, and he shook away her touch every time. "You don't scare me."

Amused by it, she laughed.

With his face turned away from hers, Rick released a breath and bit down hard on his lip. The next time her arm thrust out to clutch his elbow, he barely caught the tip of her jeweled hand but still clutched her fingertips, shielded with sharp rosy nails, to rotate her in his direction, and she swiveled at full tilt into his chest. With a jangle of her jewelry, her earrings smacked against the gold of his jacket. He dropped her hand from his and instead slipped his fingers into her hair, thumb resting on her cheek, watching the surprised look on her face as he loomed above, dipping his head to kiss her.

His thumb gently stroked her cheek as he moved his face against hers, trying to get as much of her as he could. Her eyelashes brushed his face when they shut, and he felt her hand come up to clutch the back of his blazer, drawing them even closer if it was possible.

For a moment, everything was in slow motion, and it was just the two of them pressed against each other in the vacant corner of the ballroom.

Then he pulled his face away to look at her, they were still clutched together in their circle.

She blinked up at him, her eyes incredibly brown.

"Why do you keep kissing me?" Her voice was soft, that loud amused jest from seconds earlier had vanished.

"Why do you keep letting me?" He murmured, searching her eyes with his.

She unwrapped herself from his hold, letting go of his jacket and spinning away. "What, are you in love with me or something?"

"Ha. Absolutely not." He shot back with a sneer.

"Good." She brushed a loose braid behind her ear. "Because gross."

He raised his brows. "Can we go back to five seconds ago when you were practically begging for my forgiveness? That was cute."

She made a face. "You mean when you were an unsympathetic ass? Sure."

Rick pulled out his phone. "Whose fault was that?"

"Are you over it now?" She asked seriously.

He shrugged. "I guess."

"Good." She turned and marched away.

* * *

Still flustered from Rick's sudden decision to osculate her out of nowhere, a flushed Michonne had thrown on Sasha's brown jacket over her dress and was watching by the cameras as her father made his way through the entryway of the ballroom, he was dressed fancily, smiling.

Anger rose in her chest once again and she clenched her fists, gazing fervently.

"He sent that man who attacked you, right?"

It was Rick, he was coming up behind her, following her line of view.

She looked at him quickly, swallowing at his proximity. This close, she could smell his strong perfume. Her eyes crept down at his hand that had been stroking her face gently only moments before. "Yes."

"Why?"

"It wasn't for me. It was for Richard." She said low, raising her gaze. "I told him it was your father who told you to accept the proposition."

Rick sighed behind her. "And I'm guessing he sent that dude to scare him."

"Yeah." She breathed through her nose as she pressed her lips together, and then opened them. "This is ridiculous. This _fake-ass r_ elationship. Why should we have to do this? Why should _I_ have to do this for my father? He's an ass, he's—"

"Michonne, shut up."

"What?" She turned around to face him in bewilderment, then smacked his shoulder. "Don't tell me to shut up."

" _Michonne_." He planted both hands on her shoulders and spun her to face the cameras, which were on, faced directly on them.

And recording.

 _And_ the red light was on.

"Oh, my _god_."

She hadn't noticed that Glenn was standing there behind the camera. She didn't know him, Sasha only spoke of him. His eyes were wide, and by the time she saw the mischievous glint in them or Rick had decided to act, he was pulling up the camera and dashing away.

"Wait!" She cried, sweeping the floors with the red frill of her gown as she bolted across the ballroom after him with Rick.

When they reached the doors, they bust through them onto cold vacant side walk, and blue night atmosphere. A green car was rushing away. Their heavy breaths floated in the air as white smoke.

"Fuck!" Michonne slapped a hand over her face.

"Goddamnit." Rick turned away, throwing his head back to laugh exasperatingly at the sky above. " _We are so screwed_."


	5. Outskirts of Vanity Front

_Recap (added these to all chapters for those who say they're confused):_

 _\- Michonne finds out it's her father who sent the assailant to the townhouse that attacked her._

 _\- When Rick tells his father that he was with Daryl, his father doesn't seem very happy about it._

 _\- The thing she told Richard about Rick was that he was sleeping with Jessie._

 _\- Rick kisses Michonne._

 _\- Michonne loudly confesses that she's in a fake relationship with Rick, and it's caught on camera by a videographer Glenn, who takes the camera and escapes before Michonne or Rick can catch him._

 ** _The Outskirts of Vanity Front_**

"Project 'humiliate our parents and possibly ruin our future career endeavors because we can't shut our oral cavities' is a go." Is what Rick said as they breathlessly ambled back through the colossal glass doors of the ballroom. Inside, Michonne went straight for a black bench and threw herself onto it. She felt physically sick at the situation, what she caused, how this could play out so badly.

"Ugh." She groaned in vexation at him.

"Splendid work." He held a thumbs up out at her.

"Quit being childish." She massaged the creases in her forehead. "We need to figure out who this guy is and, hopefully if we're lucky, get the memory card with minimal mortification."

"And how do you propose we do any of that, Michonne? Pay him off? Ask nicely? He's long gone." Rick folded his arms, his tone petulant. "That old gaffer's going to disown me without question."

"Your father? Why? You didn't do this."

"Doesn't matter. Richard, without fail, will always find a way to hold me responsible." He rubbed at his brow. "I'm done for when this gets out. And you….your father will _kill_ you…well, at least, he'll make sure he finishes the job this time."

"Hey." She shot him a disturbed look. "Let's not talk about Malcom right now."

"Yikes. Daddy almost kills you once and it's Malcolm now?"

"Please." She shook her head at him, feeling too queasy to laugh. "That guy's name is Glenn. He's a friend of my friend Sasha. Let's just go look for her."

With that, they delved deeper into the ballroom, Michonne searching the area with her eyes until they came across the brown-skinned, curly-haired beauty folding and bagging camera equipment. Rick followed after her and they approached Sasha.

"Michonne." Sasha said upon seeing them and then looked to Rick, inclining her head toward him. "Mr. Grimes."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Who was your nosy little videographer friend?"

"What?" Sasha crinkled her brows.

"What's his name?" He gestured his hands impatiently.

"I don't…" She looked to Michonne in confusion.

"He means Glenn." Michonne cut in. "He's got a video of some pretty compromising shit. We just need his last name."

Sasha sighed. "I never got his last name, we met in a café recently to discuss the event, but that's it. This was the only thing we've done together."

Rick chuckled, glancing at Michonne. "How do you manage to be useless _with_ useless friends. That's…that's so sad."

Sasha glared at him, then looked to her friend. "I wish I could help, Michonne. I just—"

"You don't follow his socials, nothing? Phone number?" Michonne pressed further.

"No. Sorry."

" _God_." Michonne bit down hard on her lip before looking to Rick. "Well, you were right about one thing. We are _so, so_ screwed."

* * *

"So, where exactly are we going now?" Rick asked, on her heels as she clacked over to a tall white woman who was drinking champagne by herself, red hair spilling down her shoulders like scarlet wine. She was wearing a shimmery black dress, her face lined with wrinkles.

"The coordinators hired him, right? Then they'll know his name."

They approached Margarette Ann Du Val, a French councilwoman and when they did, she turned to face Michonne and immediately a wide smile spread across her face. " _Mishie_!"

She yanked Michonne into a tight hug while Rick watched.

"Marge." Michonne grinned as she pulled away. "The ball was delightful."

Margarette held onto both of Michonne's hands, adoration in her eyes. "Was it? I found it a tad boring."

Michonne offered a laugh, shooting Rick a look over her shoulder.

"Oh." Rick cleared his throat and thrust out his hand in Margarette's direction. "Rick. Grimes."

"I know who you are." Margarette had a stern look in her eye at him, but still shook his hand. "So, how did Malcolm do it?"

"Do what?" Rick quirked a brow.

"Get you to agree to this relationship?"

"Whoa." Rick shared a panicked look with Michonne though his lips were spread in a smile. "I, um—"

"I'm kidding!" Margarette laughed out loud, and Rick and Michonne offered weak laughs too.

Michonne cleared her throat before she spoke again. "So, Marge, we noticed you had cameramen set up."

"Yes, we wanted to document the first Du Val ball in years." Margarette nodded. "Why?"

"One of the crew members, short, Asian guy? He took my picture." Michonne gestured a height only an inch above her. "But he disappeared so early…and those were gorgeous pictures. Do you know his name, by any chance?"

"Well, of course." Margarette sipped her wine. "Though, I'm not entirely sure why he's departed so early. The event is hardly over. That was Glenn Rhee, he's a columnist."

" _Gossip_ …columnist?" Michonne questioned reluctantly.

"Yeah, he did that really racy bit on councilman Greene's extracurriculars." Margaret nearly whispered to them, a chuckle rising from her chest. "I was surprised he could work a camera."

Rick made a noise behind her, something between a snicker and him clearing his throat.

Michonne sent a wide-eyed to him. "Wow _. Ha ha._ Um, thank you."

They turned away from her and began walking in the other direction. Michonne felt even sicker than before, this was really happening.

"So, let me get this straight." Rick started as soon as they were clear. "You're telling me you just blabbered the most valuable secret of modern-day Vanity Front in front of the camera of a gossip columnist…for _free_?" Rick looked astonished, a laugh dropping out of his mouth.

"Shut your face, Rick Grimes." Michonne muttered in a panicked manner as she fiddled with her hands, feeling humiliated enough, her eyebrows bunched up worriedly.

"Alright, Sherlock. You got his name. What now? I don't suppose you have a hacker friend hidden somewhere who can conjure up gossipmonger's address or are all your friends useless?"

"Actually…" Michonne dug into her purse and came away with her phone. "I kind of do. I'll call you when I get his location."

"Are you sending me home?" Rick stared quizzically, hands out.

"Yes." Michonne pressed the phone to her ear, walking away. "Go home, you're being a grouch."

"No, I'm being me." He said simply.

"That's…that's so sad." She leaned against a wall faced away from him. "Hey. Ezekiel. Yeah. I know. Listen, paternal brain off, nerd brain on."

Rick scoffed with a smile, then headed away.

* * *

When he'd left Michonne, and again headed out of the doors of the ballroom, Rick saw that the limo he'd arrived in with his father was nowhere to be seen. In fact, if he could remember clearly, he hadn't seen his father anywhere at the ball since they'd arrived together.

He pursed his lips, eyebrows crinkled in genuine confusion before stuffing his hand into the pocket of his blazer and pulling out of his phone. When the screen turned on, a text glared back at him:

 _DARYL_ : _I got something._ _Noon tomorrow,_ _Rusty Box_.

Rick dialed in his father's number and put the phone to his ear, but Richard never picked up. So instead, he called a car for home.

* * *

She'd took her ride back to Ezekiel's apartment, and a long ride it was. She probably guessed two hours, he was all the way across town. Ezekiel's apartment was small, gorgeous and white, warm and cozy. Ezekiel let her in, and she'd swooped into the apartment in a flutter of red.

His laptop was on, and Ezekiel pulled up a chair for Michonne to sit in beside him.

"So, whose privacy am I invading for you?" Ezekiel asked, glancing over to her, fingers hovering above the keyboard keys.

Michonne cleared her throat. "Glenn Rhee. He's a gossip columnist."

Ezekiel chuckled as he clacked the name into a search engine she'd never seen before. "What does he know?"

She grinned embarrassingly, propping her elbow up on his desk to lean her head against her hand. "I may have exposed my arranged political relationship in front of his camera."

Ezekiel made a noise that sounded a lot like Rick stifling a chuckle.

"No laughing." She held a hand up in his face humorously.

He shook his head at her and turned when the computer made a beeping sound. "Okay, Glenn Rhee…"

"I need his address. What are the odds it's lying around on there somewhere?"

"Very high." He flipped through a bunch of webpages, a gallery, the columnists bio. "So…he works for the Vanity Tidbit gossip blog, and the Vanity Front Report magazine." More clicking, more switching websites and search engines. "Nothing about an address here."

Michonne rubbed a hand over her mouth. "This is so bad."

"I have an idea." He said to her before he went back to Glenn's _Pacebook_ profile and opened up a message toward him.

"What are you gonna do?" She perked up, but pessimism still spewed from her mouth. "Ask him nicely?"

"Not exactly." He began typing up a paragraph.

She leaned forward to read the entire thing with furrowed brows, then set back in realization, a smile on her face. "You're a genius."

* * *

"Rick."

It was lulling sound of a familiar woman's voice threatening to split through his peaceful spell of sleep and the serene dream he was in. The dream where grass was greener, sky was bluer, and there was nothing but his illustrations. Beneath his nose something tickled him, his nose twitched.

" _Rick_." He caught bits of what the woman was saying even though he didn't want to, he just wanted to sleep. "No, he's still asleep. Yes, he has to come. Just—keep the car running. Bye. No, _bye_ , Ezekiel."

A giggle, then silence.

" _Rick_."

He ignored it.

"Gripe, wake _up._ " Something struck his shoulder.

His eyes snapped open to the dimly lit atmosphere of his bedroom, comprising of candles and cold night sky air blowing in from an open window. He remembered that he was splayed out on the silky cream sheets of his bed, a result of collapsing the moment he came home.

A plethora of smooth dark braids draped over his silver velvet pillows, but one particular braid was stroking the space beneath his nose and mouth.

He lurched up with a gasp, genuinely startled, smacking away the braid.

Ahead of him, reclined on the empty side of the bed with her head propped up on a velvet pillow was Michonne, who laughed as stared at her in confusion, disoriented.

She was beautiful, switched out of the elegant red ballroom gown and into a casual fit, a black turtleneck and jeans.

"What the _hell_ , Michonne?" He panted, rubbing at his eyes as he sat up, then twisted over to the bedside table, switching the clock over in his hand to see the time. "3 am?"

She sat up, throwing her legs over the side of the bed, faced away from him. "You sleep talk."

"I don't." He swung his legs over the bed, unbuttoning the top of his silk blue floral-patterned pajamas.

"Whatever," she stood and turned to him, stuffing her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. "We got Glenn's address. Let's go."

He raised his brows. "Aw, you didn't go without me. That's sweet."

"Whatever." She repeated. "Let's just go."

He looked over his shoulder at her. "Let me shower firs—"

" _Sweet mother of Christ_."

He stood to see what she'd seen.

Michonne was standing ahead of his easel. She was gazing at the canvas, at the last thing he'd painted. It was a speckle of cool colors, meeting to form a detailed Blue jay resting on a thin branch. She stepped closer to the painting, reaching out toward it.

"No touching." He said, sleep still apparent in his voice. "You didn't see it on your way in?"

"No, I…" She twisted and looked at him, before jabbing a finger at him in question. "You… _you're_ talented?"

"Ouch." He walked to the door beside his bed and table and stepped into the bathroom. Rick flicked on the light and crossed the small area to turn on the shower.

"How impolite." He murmured absently to himself, feeling the cold of the tiles beneath his feet as he continued unbuttoning his pajama top.

"We'll be waiting in the van." She called out from his bedroom.

Van?

 _We_?

A click. Then she was gone.

* * *

After a lengthy shower, he'd dressed comfortably. A formal navy-blue suit, vest, tie and all, topped off with a thick dark blue puffer coat. He descended the steps, stepped onto the flat platform and walked over the place where Michonne's blood stained just a week before.

As he approached the front door, he reached out to pull it outward, but it was already being opened, and it was Richard who was coming inside. He was out of his golden blazer and in dark clothes, when he turned and saw Rick, he looked surprised.

"Where were you?" Rick asked.

"I'm a busy man, you really want the answer to that?" He slipped his keys in his jacket.

Rick stuffed his hands in both pockets of his coat. "Well, you were MIA the whole ball. I didn't realize you were just dropping me off to bail."

"It wasn't planned. I just left early to visit your mother." Richard stalked past him and deeper into the house, shutting the door behind him. "Where are you going with Michonne? I saw her in that van running outside."

"A date." Rick turned to face his father before continuing. "You went all the way up to Timber Falls to see Mom for only a few hours?"

"Yes." Richard said. "Now go, I said that van's running."

"Yeah…" Rick stared suspiciously.

* * *

Michonne had gone back into Ezekiel's van. She was truly stunned that Rick was an artist, he'd never publicly spoke about doing art. To her or to the media. She sat in the middle row of seats of the spacious van, with Sasha in the passenger's seat ahead of her. They'd picked her up on the way to the townhouse.

Ezekiel, in the front seat, hands on the wheel, impatiently looked back at Michonne. "You sure he's coming? It's been 20 minutes."

Michonne stuffed an earphone into one ear, shrugging. "Give it 5 more. After that, just go."

"Great."

She shut her eyes and settled back into her seat, enjoying the rain sounds blasting into one of her ears, just as the van door began to slide open. Michonne opened her eyes again and saw that Rick was climbing into the van, looking around with an expression laced with contempt.

"You're late." It was Ezekiel, his tone was hard.

Rick gave him a once-over, a gaze heavy with judgement, but didn't respond. He dipped his head as he strolled further into the van, his eyes scanning over all the seats. His eyes landed on her before he slid into the seat beside hers.

Rick looked handsome, wearing a blue suit and a darker blue puffer coat over it. His hair was sheeny and curly, a few locks hanging loosely over his forehead just as they always did.

"You want to tell me why you brought all your friends?" Was the first thing he said to her just as the van pulled away from the townhouse and onto the dark roads.

"No." She responded simply.

"This isn't a party."

"I know." Michonne kept her eyes ahead as she dug into her pocket and pulled out a strip of strawberry gum to stuff it into her mouth.

"Right." He leaned over to adjust the seat recliner lever, and with his eyes away, it gave her a moment to watch him. Watch a curl dangle freely with his head bent over, watch his hands. It was enough for flickers of the amorous ballroom events to attack her brain. His hands, his lips, how soft they were on hers.

"It's Ezekiel's van, and Sasha's the only one who's spoken to Glenn." She decided to answer, softly chewing her gum.

Rick's seat lurched backward, and he raised his head to say: "So…useless. Like I said." before he stretched his shoulders and rested his head back in his chair.

"Not useless." She watched him with his eyes shut. "Ezekiel's actually the one who got his address."

Rick cocked an eye open at her, then opened the other. "Ezekiel?"

"Our driver." She inclined her head toward the front where Ezekiel was steering the wheel, they passed Vanity Park and Sweeting café.

"How did he manage that?" Rick folded his arms over his chest, interested.

"Well, he couldn't find his address anywhere online, so he messaged Glenn and told him he had some compromising info of his own on council members and asked for a meet at his house." Michonne said proudly. "After that, it was a done deal. Dude practically threw his address at us."

"Hmm. The douchebag's so desperate, he agreed to meeting in the AMs? Wow." He was silent for a moment. "I'm not paying anything, by the way." He told her. "When we get there. This is your problem."

She pulled her only earphone out. "It's your problem too."

"Maybe to my father, yes. Media too. Otherwise, it really isn't. You're the one on the video." She hadn't noticed he'd pulled out a toothpick and it was sticking out the side of his mouth.

"Uhm, _no_. You're on the video too, hands on my shoulders, urging me to shut up when you noticed the cameras." She stated. "That's you confirming what I said, buddy."

Rick stared ahead of himself for a moment in realization. "You're right."

"I usually am."

Rick looked to her, eyes its usual light blue hue, and his lips parted. In this moment, he looked exposed, a little vulnerable, like he was about to say something that made him nervous. It was a look she'd never seen on him. Especially him.

She stopped chewing her gum.

"Gas stop." Interrupted Ezekiel from the front, and they both looked toward him. He had pulled up into _Tex-Press_ gas station and was driving up beside a gas pump. "If anyone wants a bathroom break or some food, here's your chance. I'm not stopping again, and this dude lives on the outskirts of town."

Rick glanced back at her again and she saw in the sky of his blue eyes that the raw exposure and genuine nervousness had vanished. He looked away, pulling himself up and out of his seat.

* * *

Her eyes were scanning over a row of yogurts, a blue shopping basket dangling over one arm. Michonne pulled out one with granola and strawberries, then went into another aisle and dropped a can of fruit tea in her basket. Beside her, she saw that Rick was also pulling out a can of fruit tea. He was staring absently into the air.

"What am I doing here?" He asked randomly as she approached him.

"Uhm." She looked around. "Getting food for the trip."

He furrowed his brows, speaking to himself. " _Jesus_. What am I doing?"

"Hey, it's your ass on the line too if the video gets out, so get your head in the game." With that, Michonne stalked past him and into the keychain aisle, he followed after her.

"This is all your fault." He hissed.

"I know." She ran her fingers over dangling colorful keychains, smiling at them.

He sighed deeply, scratching the back of his head. "If you hadn't been screaming to the high heavens that we're in a fake relationship—"

"I _know."_ She whirled to face him. "And you want to say that a little louder, you hypocritical sorehead?" She stared around cautiously in the store that was occupied by only a few people.

"What's going on here?" Interjecting again, it was Ezekiel. She hadn't noticed he'd entered the store.

He was walking up beside her, sliding his hand down into hers. She nearly choked in surprise, and she saw Rick ahead of them raise his brows. Rick's eyes went from Ezekiel to Michonne, mouth slightly open. He looked just as astonished as she felt.

"Uh, n—nothing. Rick's just…playing the blame game _again_." She spluttered uncontrollably. "Like he isn't on the video too."

Rick scoffed, shooting daggers at her with his eyes. "Yeah, telling _you_ to shut up."

"How was I supposed to know there was a camera recording what I was saying?" Michonne tore her hand out of Ezekiel's to make genuine motions with her them as she spoke.

"Oh, I don't know, because it was _right there_ , Dumbo."

"Did _you_ see it when you first walked up to me? Huh, did you? No, I don't think you did, because if you did—"

"It's no one's fault." Ezekiel cut in between the overlapping hostile voices that were turning heads. "Don't you think this time will be better spent on the road getting the video back?"

"Exactly." Michonne added, folding her arms over her chest and watching Rick, who paused and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, okay." Rick put blandly.

Then he moved to walk past them, but Ezekiel caught his shoulder with his hand, stopping him in his tracks. The look in Rick's eyes when he did so was feral and Michonne gulped watching them, taking a step back.

"Hey." Began Ezekiel, his tone sharp and focused. "Quit being an ass, dude."

Rick had his lips pressed up, his gaze went from Ezekiel's hand on his shoulder to Ezekiel's face. She couldn't describe the look in his eyes, but it wasn't friendly. He looked to Michonne and then simply brushed past Ezekiel and to the cashier with his fruit tea.

"I might understand why you hate that guy so much." Ezekiel said to her when he was gone.

* * *

The drive across town felt like it lasted days, but that's entirely because she slept for most of the ride. She awoke suddenly when the van was pulling up into a gorgeous strip of land with a lake and a solitary house, it was a grey and white bungalow house with no cars parked outside it.

Rick was awake. He was just sitting in his seat upright, staring ahead with his arms crossed. A permanent scowl etched into his face. For a reason, she felt good that he was there with them. Mainly because it didn't seem like something he'd do, or mostly they didn't seem like people he'd spend his time with.

"You know, that grimace isn't helping anything." She said as soon as they began withdrawing their seats to leave the van, Rick ahead of her. She watched the back of his head as she spoke.

"I gotta say, I'm disappointed in you, Michonne." He said out of the blue, not looking at her. " _Him_?"

They reached the door and Rick inclined his head toward Ezekiel who was still in the front seat, so close he probably listening in. But Rick didn't seem to care as he pulled the van door open and stepped to the side to let her out.

"I don't want to call Jessie out of her name, but I will if you make me, Rick." She shot back, dropping down onto the grass, lugging her purse in her arms. "Let's not get into your track record."

Rick stepped out of the van too and shut it behind him.

"So she's a cocaine addict, so what? If nothing else, it's a riveting quality." He gave a half shrug, arms out. "Him? He's _boring_. That repulses me to my core. Even I can admit you deserve better."

Sasha and Ezekiel had also departed the front seats of the car and were speaking on the other side of the van silently.

Michonne lowered her tone. "He's not _boring_. He's…he's—"

"Short, mawkish, and undateable?"

" _Stop_." She hugged herself as they began strolling in direction of the wide and haunting house.

He laughed genuinely into the cold air of the night, creating his own cloud of white smoke. "You're being a terrible advocate for him, you know."

"You just barely met him." She clutched the cold chain handle of her purse across her chest, inspecting her nails on her other hand. "He's a good guy."

"Which is…synonymous with boring. So, like I said." He cocked his head to the side, hands shoved into the pocket of his coat.

"Hey!" They turned at the sound of Ezekiel's voice, and he was standing beside Sasha a ways away. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Uhm." Michonne confusedly pursed her lips. "Meeting with Glenn?"

"Glenn's gonna split if he sees you two." Sasha said, trudging toward them. "I'll go first."

"He'll split if he sees you too." Said Ezekiel, beside her.

"How is this going to work exactly?" Rick asked as everyone drew near to each other. "No one explained the details. Is someone paying him off, appealing with his humanity? What exactly is happening here?"

"We're early, so he isn't home." Ezekiel informed.

"Breaking in?" Queried Michonne.

"No one's breaking into anything." Sasha hissed.

"Now is not the time for you saintly types." Rick said firmly, glowering at Sasha. "It's our families on the line."

"No." Sasha stared at him disbelievingly. "I'm not going to jail because—"

"Because your friend never shuts up?"

Michonne, offended, scowled at Rick. "Are we still on this? What's done is done."

"She's right." Ezekiel stepped up beside her. "You're not helping."

"Listen man,"— Rick began, this being the first time he addressed Ezekiel directly—"I've been ignoring you since the moment I met you. Haven't you gotten the memo? Stop talking to me."

Michonne and Sasha shared looks of incredulity.

Ezekiel loomed closer to Rick, he looked so irritated. "You leaving right now wouldn't change a thing because _no one_ wants you here. No one likes you. Now, at the very least, why don't you try to be a team player and listen?"

"No one likes me? Really?" He scrunched his brows. He looked so unbothered, so unaffected, somehow managing to keep his coolness despite the insults being hurled his way. "Probably slipped your girlfriend's mind when was kissing me."

As soon as the the words left his mouth, Sasha clapped a hand over her own mouth, eyes wide.

Michonne took in a sharp breath, slapping a hand to her forehead and lowering her head to avoid Ezekiel's eyes. Her cheeks flared, everything flared, she was on fire. So embarrassed.

Ezekiel chuckled lightly at Rick. "You're in a fake relationship, am I supposed to be shocked you kissed?"

"See, that would make sense if anyone was watching." Rick drew nearer to Ezekiel as if he wanted him to hear every word he was saying. "There was no one watching, no one was even _near_."

Ezekiel glanced to Michonne who was recovering and the look in his eyes made her feel suddenly ashamed. Then he backed away from Rick.

"I'll meet with Glenn alone." Ezekiel said, his tone low. "I'll try my best but if there's no luck, I'll text Sasha and let you guys in from the back."

"You sure?" Asked Michonne.

"I don't know." Ezekiel shrugged before turning away.

* * *

They'd all gone to the van while Ezekiel waited on the porch for Glenn to arrive. Sasha had gotten in the back this time so as not to be seen by Glenn when he did arrive. The van was silent. Until they heard the sound of earth crunching as a blue jeep pulled up to the bungalow house.

A man stepped out, even through the dark veil of night she could see that it was Glenn. He was dressed in plaid, a brown leather messenger bag slung over his arms as he approached the house where Ezekiel stood. Smiles were shared, hands shaken, and Glenn opened his door and the two went inside.

Michonne had her arms crossed over chest, set back in her seat, she barely cared about the tape anymore, her thoughts were on Ezekiel and Rick's argument that occurred an hour before. She didn't like the feeling in her chest, she felt terrible.

Rick, beside her, had his eyes shut and his head was reclining over the seat top.

"I don't like this." Said Michonne, gnawing on her fingernail. "Him in there with Glenn."

Sasha, in the seat ahead of her, sighed. "He's a gossip columnist, not a killer."

Just then, someone's phone pinged, and Sasha was pulling her phone out of her pocket.

"It's a go." Sasha sighed deeply again. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"You don't have to." Michonne assured. "Rick and I can just go ourselves."

Sasha looked reluctant. "You sure?"

In the end, the twosome made their way out of the van, they stalked back up toward the house that was lit warmly, she could see the shadows of Ezekiel and Glenn in the house as they rounded the building toward the back. Michonne stepped up and closed her hand around the knob of the back door, holding it tight in her grip so it wouldn't make a noise as she pushed it outward and slipped inside. Rick after her.

They could see that back of Glenn and Ezekiel's heads in the living room from the kitchen as they padded across the tile and then up the stairs. Immediately, they both slipped into the first room of his house. It was Glenn's bedroom and it was cluttered in boxes, some with files, some with movies and CDs.

Rick raised his eyebrows at the room and Michonne went for a jumbled desk, it was chaotic with pill bottles, audio recorders, a laptop and some empty chip bags.

"Look."

"Found it?" She swiveled to Rick, only to see he was clutching a reindeer antler headband and was slipping it onto his head, she rolled her eyes at this. "Ha. Very cute. Totally helpful."

"Very, actually." He began playing with the antlers atop his head. "Let me make up for your scarring Christmas memories."

She smirked at him, going back to the table to finish going through the clutter. "You had the entirety of last week to do that, Rick."

"How?" She heard him fiddling with a box, moving things. "You were missing in action. I tried to see you twice and you weren't home. I _was_ worried about you, you know."

"Oh really?" She turned to him, and then behind his head she realized that on the bookshelf that a camera was set in front of some red paperbacks. She sauntered over into his circle and leaned over, reaching her arm out. Rick sank backward to avoid clashing his face with hers, his face confused and suggestive.

When she came back with the camera in her hand, she saw the look on his face.

"Wait—did you think I was—?" She grinned to herself, turning the camera around over in her hands. "In your dreams."

"You mean in back-corners of snazzy ballrooms?" He straightened his coat, watching as she turned on the camera, and began clicking random buttons until she came across the gallery.

She clicked the latest recorded file and it came up, she saw herself in the gorgeous appearance of the ballroom in the red ballgown with Rick behind her flashing in gold.

 _"It wasn't for me. It was for Richard. I told him it was your father who told you to accept the proposition."_

 _"And I'm guessing he sent that dude to scare him."_

 _"Yeah. This is ridiculous. This fake-ass relationship. Why should we have to do this? Why should I have to do this for my father? He's an ass, he's—"_

 _"Michonne, shut up."_

 _"What? Don't tell me to shut up."_

 _"Michonne."_

 _"Oh, my god."_

The video ended abruptly as soon as Glenn had snatched up the camera. Michonne raised her eyebrows as she clicked through the options list, searching for a delete button.

"Give me it." Rick snatched it in annoyance and found the delete option quickly.

 _"What the hell?"_

The blaring voice had come from the door, and Michonne and Rick looked up in surprise. It was Glenn. He was standing by the slightly-opened door, his face twisted in alarm.

"Listen." Michonne took a breath, her heart knocking in her chest. "You can't post that video."

"Michonne Jesekai?" Glenn looked past her. "Rick Grimes? …Did you seriously break in?"

"Yep." Rick put simply, flashing that unshaken flair, and shook the camera in the air. "Did you _seriously_ think you were going to get away with this?"

"Hey—" Glenn stepped out, reaching for his camera.

"Hey, hey. Wait, wait, wait. Okay, stop." Michonne moved in the space between them, arms up. "Let's just talk about this."

"Damn it!" It was Ezekiel, coming up the stairs so late. "I thought he was going to the bathroom."

"You're in on this?" Glenn glanced back at Ezekiel, realization etched on his features. "Tell me why I shouldn't call the cops right now."

"Because my father is a dangerous man." Michonne gulped, not knowing exactly what she was doing. The words were just tumbling free. "You mess with me, with—with his _reputation_ , his image? You're _over_."

Rick, beside her, nodded in agreement.

Glenn watched her closely. "Can we have a moment?"

"N—" Ezekiel began to protest.

"Yes." She said. "Go."

Rick looked at her for a moment, then to Glenn before he and Ezekiel left the room and shut it hard behind themselves.

"Dangerous?" He echoed.

"It's—it's difficult to explain." She chuckled to herself lightly, scratching at her forehead, then remembering her stitches. "It's true. Though, I'm not sure what else I can say to get you not to plaster that story all over the paper."

Glenn stared at her. "Help me."

She quirked a brow. "What?"

"Help me, and I won't publish that story." He walked past her to a box and began flipping through some fat leather folders.

"Help you…with what, exactly?"

"Trivial drama and gossip isn't all that I work on." He turned to her, leaning against the box. "I'd like a significant story, something major."

She was still confused as to how she fit into that.

"I've been working on your aunt, Vanity's murder for a few months now."

"Oh. Quit while you're ahead. Trust me, you're not the first journalist to attempt to solve her case." Michonne said. "The cops combed through everything. There's nothing you'll find, especially with my help. I don't know anything."

"I thought that at first." He scratched at his thin mustache. "But those journalists didn't have my connections. Those cops didn't have much to go on, either. They gave up pretty fast. And I know you know nothing, but I also know that you think that Frederick Grimes was the one who murdered your aunt."

"I do…" She stared suspiciously. "Why?"

"I want your evidence." His eyes bored into her soul. "I want to know why you think that, because according to my groundwork, there's almost an 80% chance that Frederick Grimes was _nowhere near_ that Willbury beach the night Vanity was murdered."

Michonne's hands clenched into fists at her sides and she stepped toward him defensively. "Do you know what you're saying to me right now?"

"Help me." He repeated. "And if I'm wrong, I don't know, I'd owe you a lot."

"You _are_ wrong." She tightened her lips but unclenched her hands. "But…I'm way too curious and hands-on to _not_ help you. I want to know what you know."

His eyes widened. "Th—thank you. _Thank_ you! Here." He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and approached her to scribble a phone number on her palm. "I'll keep in contact."

* * *

"So, what did you two talk about?" Rick was asking her, shoving his hands in his pockets as he approached her at the edge of the lake.

Michonne stopped pacing around the lake to face him. "Um—nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

Ezekiel was still inside with Glenn, but she wasn't sure what they had to talk about. And she'd just gone by the lake to watch the moon reflect in its waters and the ripples. She brushed her braids behind her ear and gazed at Rick who was staring over into the lake water. She wondered what he was thinking in that moment.

In the moment, there was only one thing on her mind. A question. And it had been consuming her the moment he'd entered the van. Michonne took a nervous breath and opened her mouth to ask it, but in that moment, she noticed that white specks were cascading around them, speckling across the blue of Rick's coat, landing in his hair and the grass around them.

"Is it…?"

"It's snowing." Rick answered, gazing up at the sky as grains of snow tumbled down to earth, peppering his hair in white.

"Oh wow!" Michonne exclaimed, animated.

She looked up to watch the snow fall downwards onto them with a wide grin. But then, when a grainy mush of wet white smacked onto her face from a tree branch above, Rick's laughter rang out. It must've been snowing that whole time based on the size of the snowball and she had her eyes clenched shut as wetness spilled down her cheeks.

She cocked an eye open to see Rick reach out and brush away the snow from the tip of her nose with his thumb, the most gorgeous smile spread on his face. She liked that smile, and again, the same question ran through her mind. And like before, she parted her lips to verbally express the question, but he'd spoken.

"Michonne…" He trailed, dropping his hand, the smile lingering in his eyes though his lips had straightened.

She watched him and the water rippling in the edge of his pretty blue eyes, her chest tight. "Yes?"

"I'm sure…" He cleared his throat, fevered. "I'm sure you're wondering…why I kissed you. At the ball."

"I am." She perked up, that being the thing she'd wanted to ask in the moment. "But you don't have to—I mean, if you don't want t—"

"Just…let me speak." He interrupted, blinking. "I owe you this."

She'd never seen him like this. The sapphire vulnerability sparkling in his eyes, the uneasiness in the way he fiddled with his pockets and paused in between sentences. All walls were down, all cages unlocked. This moment, and the air around felt chillingly raw, free, _honest_.

"I don't think I've ever…I mean, I _have_ , I've hated you." He managed, dropping his gaze to his feet. "For my father, for my grandfather, for my mother, for _everyone else_." The honesty in his voice and eyes was almost too much to bear. "But…between us, I don't know, _personally_ …I don't think I've ever really hated you."

Stunned, she breathed through her nose, frozen in place by this lake. She couldn't move her hands or arms, ice trickled in her veins. What was happening?

"In fact, I think I've grown fond of you." Snow collected in the curve of his dark lashes, but he never made a move to blink them away. "Which is why, when I saw the chance, I kissed you at the ball…I just let myself go, just to _see_. And honestly, when I did that, I realized something."

"W-what?"

"That I _could_. I could let it all go." His eyes had been searching the ground before they finally met hers, and when they did, they were startlingly clear, sharp and so blue. "Which brings me to what I've been wanting to ask you since then."

She furrowed her brows at this.

He'd been wanting to ask _her_ something?

What could he _possibly_ —

"If _I_ was able to let it go…all the past drama, everything that's happened, everything we've _done,_ all the shit between our families, and _allow..._ whatever this is I'm feeling for you…" He swallowed down hard. "Would you?"

.

.

.

* * *

Quickly answering a guest review:

 **For instance, how and when did Michonne tell Rick's dad?**

In chapter 3, when Michonne was caught by Richard in Frederick's room, the scene ended with:

 _'Liars, was all she could think in the moment. That's all they were good for, lies and schemes and deceit. She couldn't stand them._

 _"Speaking of Rick…" she looked up at him, with firm lips, her only leverage and she was going to waste it all. "There's something you should know."_ "

That's when she told him.

 **Why does she suddenly want to apologize?** After she ratted him out, in the scene I described her as ashamed. She did it in confidence but felt terrible afterward. In chapter 3, she says so herself. '" _For an odd reason, Rick's face flashed in her eyes and she was reminded of that rainy Christmas night, the anger—no, the hurt in his eyes. He looked as if he hadn't expected her to rat him out to his father, and for some odd reason that made her feel terrible_. "'

 **Why is she acting hurt when she herself wanted him to hate her?** '" _Things change_."' Apparently.

If it isn't already obvious, Michonne, _on the lowest of keys_ , likes Rick as a person. He makes her feel warm, as unwelcome as that is for her. Him being hurt by her snitching on him basically confirmed to her that things weren't exactly the same, things aren't as unfriendly and hostile as they were before.

 **Why do the chapters not flow?** They don't?


	6. Blue Nightjar Inn

**_Blue Nightjar Inn_**

 _"Would you?"_

The atmosphere had been dead silent for a minute, with snow tinkling down around them, landing on the surface of the lake. Night sky loomed overhead hauntingly, the air expectant, like Rick's eyes as he awaited an answer.

Her lips parted, she sucked in air trying to form something. Anything.

She didn't know what to say because in that moment, she was getting flashbacks of that rainy December night, and the iciest eyes were on her again. She blinked away the flashback to avoid feeling what she'd felt in that moment years ago. Remembering that, the answer should've been clear, a simple, _'No.'_ But it wasn't.

She ignored the voices in her head yapping away, clawing, telling her to say no, even the sound of her greatest loss telling her what she should do, reminding her what she'd been told in the past.

"Two weeks ago if you told me we'd be having this conversation, I'd have punched you." She said.

"I wouldn't have." He sucked in a breath. "No one's in love with anybody here, we're just…two people. A man and a woman."

"Yeah, a man and a woman whose families virtually declared war on each other some 45 years ago." She tilted her head. "Do you seriously not realize how absurd this is? That, after only a week, we're even considering doing this?"

"So, you're considering it?"

"Yes...no. I don't know." She sighed heavily, rubbing at her forehead, then looked to him with a chuckle. "Why are we doing this?"

Rick gave a half-shrug. "Clearly, there's something here to be…unearthed and, if you ask me, using our families as an excuse not to is borderline juvenile if I do say so myself. Quite frankly, I'm sick of wondering. And I've been wondering for a minute now."

"Something here to be unearthed." She repeated, gazing at him. "You sound pretty confident."

"I mean..." He shrugged again, curving his lips downward. "What's the worst that can happen? We hate each other?"

She bit her lip, then took a breath. "Then…let's go unearth it."

He blinked, surprised. "And how would we go about that?"

"Tomorrow…" She said, speaking as the thoughts came to her. "3 days. You and me. A swanky Timber Falls B&B? Call it a discovery vacation."

He raised his brows, watching her as if she was ridiculous. "Seriously?"

"I don't know." She shrugged.

He studied her suspiciously. "And when those three days are over?"

"I guess I'll give you my answer."

"Okay, deal." He looked away to the water. " _Why am I doing this_?"

His voice was low as if he was speaking to himself. He did that a lot.

"Oh no. Don't start." She sent an irritated look his way. "You're the one who brought it up."

"I'm not starting anything." He shot back.

"Uh huh." She turned away at the sound of the front door of Glenn's house shutting, and Ezekiel was saying goodbye to Glenn and then stepping down from the porch. He trudged through the thin layer of snow coating the Rhee land.

"He's good?" She asked when he approached them.

Ezekiel's eyes went from Michonne to Rick, an unreadable look on his face. "Yeah, no hard feelings for the whole ruse thing. You, uh, two ready to go?"

Michonne looked back at Rick, then back at Ezekiel. "Yes, please."

* * *

On the ride back to the townhouse, Rick sat awake, Michonne in the seat beside his slumped toward the window, she had fallen asleep only a few minutes after they had gotten on the road. Probably due to the deafening silence. Her friend, Sasha, who sat in the seat ahead of her was also fast asleep too.

He and Ezekiel were the only ones wide awake and although he wanted to, he couldn't fall back asleep. That nap had done a number on him.

He remembered something Michonne had said and slipped his phone from his pocket, responding to Daryl's text.

ME: _Tomorrow's no good._

(…)

DARYL: _so_ _when?_

ME: _Monday._

DARYL: _our first break…It's big. why the waiting game?_

 _ME: Busy._

He then went to his contacts and clicked his mother, Delila. He called her.

A click.

"Rick?" Her voice was soft. "It's 4 am, honey."

"I know, Mom. I'm just working on something." He stared out the window as they went by Sweeting café. "I just wanted to let you know I'm coming down to Timber Falls later. And if you're wondering why I didn't come down with Richard, don't worry, I didn't even know he was going. There's nothing going on."

"Wh—your father?" She queried, and he scrunched his brows.

"He visited you earlier, right?"

"No…he didn't. I don't know who told you that." Delila cleared her throat. "Well, it's good you're coming. We—no, this family has much to discuss. Especially Jeffrey…"

"Of course he does." He nodded, tightening his lips.

Delila groaned. "You know how he gets."

"Yeah, well, listen, I'm beat. I'll call you when I'm on Timber Falls land. Bye."

* * *

Michonne had traveled to the passenger's seat after Rick and Sasha had been dropped off. She'd been sleeping then, but Ezekiel had awakened her at both their stops to make sure she didn't want to go with them. She stared ahead at the dark night—or morning through the front window as they zipped past houses and buildings.

"Where to?" Ezekiel asked, steering the car to a dark road.

"Violette House."

"Really? After…?"

She nodded her head. "Yeah."

"You sure you're up to forgive him?"

She ran her hands over her face, staring into the shadows of her palms for a second before dropping them. "No. I'm not, actually. But…as much as I'd like to stay hidden from them for as long as humanly possible, running away from my problems isn't helping me at all."

"Yeah, I know from firsthand experience," he chuckled lightly, looked over to her, sobered, and then cleared his throat as if something was on his mind. "So…"

"Look, what Rick said earlier—"

"You kissed him."

"Back." She bit her lip, staring at the road ahead. "I did."

"Is this your way of telling me no? Because you can tell me. You don't have to kiss _him_." He stared at her.

She looked at him. "Wh—?"

"Okay, let's skip the part where you pretend you didn't know how I feel about you." He chuckled, eyes going back to the road. "You know. Anyone who isn't blind knows."

"Okay." She pressed her lips together, nodding. "That wasn't—I'm not…saying _no_. I'm figuring some things out. Which is why I'm spending the weekend in Timber Falls with him."

His head whipped toward her. "Then…what _are_ you saying?"

"I'm saying wait for me." She said definitively, gazing at him. "Or don't." She brushed some braids behind her ear. "Whatever you want. I don't know how I'll feel by Monday."

"You're choosing. Between us."

"God, it sounds _so_ ….when you put it like that…" She sighed. "Like I _have_ the two of you to choose from…?"

"You do." He joked.

" _Stop_." She laughed with him until she didn't. "Who knows how he even feels, you know? We barely know each other. We're jumping the gun, trying to find out if this is something either of us could actually be able to get into, so even if I do want to discover _that_ …he could decide otherwise."

"It'll be his loss."

She shrugged. "You said it, not me."

Ezekiel pulled up to the tall and elegant appearance of Violette House. It was dark against the 5 am sky. Michonne lugged up her purse, looked to Ezekiel to give him a warm look before dropping out of his van and onto snow. She trudged up toward the house, used her key, and slipped inside.

* * *

Once she'd arrived home, she had stalked upstairs to her bedroom and collapsed in bed. When she awoke only 3 hours later, the sky was light and pale. She thought it was ridiculous that what she'd planned with Rick didn't have a time or a spot to meet.

 _Ridiculous_ , she thought.

Going into her phone to figure it out was ridiculous too, seeing as she never got his number. She had just showered and was standing in the doorway of the steaming Violette House bathroom, a white towel wrapped around her head and body, her phone in her hand.

Despite the three hours of sleep she'd gotten, she was still pretty tired, which made her irritated. If she drove all the way out to the townhouse, she'd probably turn Rick down right there.

Michonne yawned into her hand.

Still, she dressed in a red sweater and dark jeans with a black coat, hat and gloves included and packed the best of her remaining clothes and other essentials into a small bag. She neatened her bedroom and shut the door. Michonne lugged her bag with her down the hall.

Her eyes flickered over to her father's room. He was always up this early. She wondered if he'd heard her come in.

She didn't care.

Michonne shook her head and headed down the stairs. When she entered the grand living room, some of the Jesekai staff were scattered amongst the house. Some taking phone calls, some doing paperwork. It was always work day for them.

Michonne knew she had so much to do when she got home from the trip, starting with an apartment. She didn't know why she never considered one until now. Maybe because she'd never wanted to be apart from her family…

"Miss Jesekai?" Called a member of the Jesekai team, Jacqui. She was standing beside a row of telephones, one by her ear with her hand covering the bottom of it.

"Yes?" Michonne dropped her bags by a wall and approached her by the phones.

"Mr. Grimes for you."

"Oh." Michonne took the phone from her and pressed it to her ear. "Let me guess, you just realized how stupid we were too? Who'd you have to call for this number?"

She heard the sound of indistinct talking in the background of his end. "Our families wouldn't be rivals if they didn't have each other's phone numbers, right?" His voice was gravelly like he'd recently woke too. "The Pierre Abernathy bus station."

"Is it too late to call this off?"

"Shut up. Get over here." He said, and then quickly hung up.

Michonne scoffed at the phone before putting it on its hook. Turning to go grab her bag from by the wall, she saw that her father was standing there in the living room. He was wearing a sweater and some jeans.

Michonne swallowed down hard, remembering that the last time they'd spoken to each other was at the hospital and she was yelling at him.

"Headed somewhere?" He queried, glancing over to the bag by the wall.

Michonne averted her gaze. "What do you want?"

"The budget went through."

Her eyes shot toward his. "What?"

"Yeah." He had one hand stuffed into his pant pocket. "So, you never have to be around another Grimes _ever_ again. In fact, we'll be better for it. Win-win."

She stared at him, bemused. "But—wait, we _passed_ the budget; won't you need more of the relationship to pass more?"

"No." He said. "The optics for the relationship haven't exactly been embracing. Haven't you been reading?"

"No. I haven't."

"Well…" Malcolm rubbed his hands together. "I don't think you were wrong about people hating division. I think they did. But now, they're seeing that if we come together there won't be any variance, it'll just be a lot of the same, that we'll pretend to see eye to eye on high-priority decisions in order to avoid another conflict."

"I see." She looked up at him. "But I hope you have a better plan than for us to just suddenly break up after the budget gets passed?"

"Of course. Just distance yourselves."

"Right." She moved past him and tugged up her bag.

"Where did you say you were going again?" He asked.

"I didn't."

With that, she went to the door and disappeared out of it.

* * *

Her mind was racing as she trudged down the icy white sidewalk, lugging her bag in her hand, so heavy her arm might as well have fallen off. Her boots sunk into the fresh white snow, and she shivered. It was so cold, she just wanted to go back home and snuggled under a blanket with some hot chocolate.

Ahead was the colossal appearance of the Pierre Abernathy bus stop, people were cluttered beneath the thick, flat, round sunshade which was usually glowing a bright red and gold, but it was early in the morning, so the signs were off.

When she reached it, she dropped her bag to the snowy ground by her feet and leaned her head back against the connecting wall of the sunshade, debating on whether to leave before Rick showed up. When it went on 10 minutes, she cursed under her breath, grabbed the heavy bag and began stalking away.

"Where do you think you're going?"

She paused, then turned to face the voice—Rick.

"Shut up and get here? You weren't even here!" She struck him in the shoulder, sleep was still grabbing at her and the chill in the air wasn't helping, and she was vexed at everything.

Rick was dressed much like how he was yesterday, out of the silky golden fits and in a black wool trench coat, some jeans, his hair twinkling with snow, a brown duffle bag in his hand.

"I fell asleep."

"Of course you did. Listen, I'm having second thoughts." She exhaled, blinking away the pale brightness of the morning. "I'm sleepy and irritated, let's just go home and forget we ever agreed to this. I won't bring it up."

"Absolutely not."

"What?"

"I didn't spend what I spent on these expensive bus tickets for you to bail because you're exhausted." He adjusted the lapels of his pretty dark jacket.

"Okay." She scratched her nose.

"Okay?"

" _Okay_." She shot him an irritated look and dropped her hand. "What, are you deaf?"

"No, I thought it would take more convincing."

" _Anyway_." She rolled her eyes. "Just…let me sleep on the bus. No talking."

"Deal."

"Great." She felt herself calming down and raised her bag to push into his chest. "Here. Hold this."

"Wha—? I'm not holding your shit." He made no move to grab the bag.

"Hey, if we're doing this whole pre-dating thing, you got to play the part." She raised her brows, still shoving the bag against him. "You signed up for this."

"It's not pre-dating _per se_." He said, but still grabbed the bag up in his arms. "It's more _possibly,-might-not,-could-be,-we'll-see_ -dating."

"…I have no idea what the hell you just said."

* * *

The bus came only a few minutes later, and they packed their bags into the luggage area and stepped up onto the bus. The bus was basically empty, only an older man sitting in the front row reading a newspaper. Rick and Michonne found their seats near the back. Michonne slid in first to get by the window and Rick slid in beside her.

"I've never been to Timber Falls." She said to him, gathering up her braids on the back of her head and using a band on her wrist to tie it in place.

Rick had, in his hands, a mini sketchpad and a pen. He must've slipped it off his bag.

He looked toward her. "It's foggy and peaceful."

"Do you like that?"

"Of course." He said, as he began gently scribbling in the outline of a bird on the sketchpad. "It's perfect for an artist, all that serenity."

"I never understood why the rest of the Grimes moved down there." She stared outside the window at the passing stores, then when she got no response, turned to Rick and snapped twice in front of his sketchpad. "Hello. That was your cue to tell me."

"It's a long story." He kept his eyes on the sketchpad. "And not one I really want to tell right now."

"Well, excuse me."

She yawned and tilted her head at the window, but her neck ached at the angle, it was uncomfortable. She groaned and rested her head on the edge of Rick's shoulder.

"Wow." She murmured, eyes shut, letting the spell of sleep drift over her. "You _are_ good for something."

* * *

A constant bump and jolt was slowly, but surely eating through her dreamy atmosphere, the one where she sat at the edge of a velvet bed in a skimpy red dress with a faceless man's hand clasped on her thigh. His grip was warm, and she was gasping as it glided upward, tickling the inner skin of her thigh and it—

Michonne awoke with a jolt, blinking and staring up at incredibly blue sky, dark and more pigmented than she had last seen it. It was snowing, white sprinkles falling down to earth.

The movement was still there, she was bouncing.

Michonne looked down from the sky to see Rick's chin from beneath. She realized he was carrying her. One arm was fit under her back, and the other hoisting up her legs from beneath her knees. He was staring ahead, marching. He hadn't noticed she'd awoken.

"You can put me down now." She said, and his eyes dropped to her, they were as blue as the bleary sky he blotted out.

"Finally awake, are we?" He grinned down at her.

"Where are we?" She tried to stare around but he was so tall that she could only see blue sky and a bit of white building. "Put me down, Rick."

"No thanks for letting you sleep? For carrying our bags _and_ you? You're heavier than you look." He continued walking down—wherever they were.

" _Rick_ , put me down."

"Fine." He released his hold from her legs, and she slid right the ground, her flats clapped sparkling, clean pavement. Too clean.

They were walking up a vacant concrete walkway toward a villa-style home. It was massive and white, with large glass windows, warm light glowed from inside. It was a home of convoluted blocks, the complicated, fancy mechanism of a home.

"What happened to the swanky B&B?" She questioned as they advanced on the blue front door, so small and simple for such a labyrinthine home. "And where the hell is our luggage?"

"I reserved our room on the bus ride." He said, pressing on the doorbell. "And they're in my car."

"Car?" She looked around.

"Yes, I have a car here too. Are you surprised?"

"Wait…this is…your family's house?" She looked back to the blue door just as it opened.

A woman was standing on the other side. She was white, with beautiful dark brown hair, her eyes blue and familiar. She was gorgeous, with a perfectly angled nose, a set jaw. Delila Grimes.

"Rick." She beamed at her son, then her eyes slid past him and at the short form of Michonne. "…and Michonne!"

Michonne waved, then looked to Rick. A warning would've been nice. Being with one Grimes was enough…

"Come in, come in." She ushered them inside and they followed.

They stepped onto the porcelain flooring and Delila shut the door, she approached Rick and leaned into her son, kissing both his cheeks before embracing him.

"I'm glad you're here." She murmured into him.

Michonne looked around, they were standing in the foyer, standing next to a small table with a large vase set onto it, red flowers were in it.

"Is Jeffrey…?" He asked when his mother pulled back.

"No. He'll be back tomorrow with Carla for dinner." Delila answered. "Are you staying the night?"

"No. We have a room at the Blue Nightjar." Rick said, looking back at Michonne.

"Oh no, stay here." Delila said, her eyes lighting up. "There's room."

"We're—we're good." Michonne finally spoke while Delila looked at her oddly. "We like that whole…honeymoon feel. It's okay."

Rick nodded at her answer. "See you tomorrow, Ma."

"Dinner's at 5. Don't be late." She leaned and kissed his cheek, rubbing at his curls, there was so much love in her eyes when she looked at her son, it reminded Michonne of how her own—

No.

Not right now.

"The whole gang will be here." Delila grinned feverishly.

Michonne grabbed the doorknob and pulled it outward, stepping out into the snow and Rick followed. She shut the door and they stood on the porch.

"She's…" Michonne began.

"Lovely." He said. "I know."

* * *

Rick's car pulled up and parked into the lot of the Blue Nightjar Inn, and they stepped out. Rick had a blue chrome jeep. It was gorgeous and smelled amazing on the inside. She rounded the car to the trunk and pulled it up, she grabbed her red bag, and Rick appeared beside her, grabbing his brown one.

In the trunk, there was a broken easel, and paint accessory boxes.

"So…art." She said, backing up while he shut the trunk. "What made you start?"

"There isn't a traumatic story to pair with it, if that's what you're looking for." He began walking in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?"

"Getting our keys, of course."

Rick left for a short while, and Michonne waited in the dark and cold, staring at their room door 315 in silence, realizing that this was actually happening, that they'd actually agreed to this.

"Heads up."

She whirled and caught with a jingle, her pair of keys. She then used it to open their door and slid inside, Rick after her.

She loved simple motel rooms. And this one was. The room had wood flooring, with two twin beds at the farther wall facing them, the blankets were a warm orange color. Two beside tables in between them against the wall.

"Roomy." He said.

"Cold." She shivered.

Rick shut the door behind them and removed his jacket.

Michonne, with her bag, went to one of the bedside tables. She dropped essentials into the top drawer, then she emptied the clothes from her bag into the bottom drawer.

Rick didn't bother unpacking his clothes, he let it stay in his bag and instead dropped down on his bed with the remote.

Michonne removed a roll of clothes, towels, and disappeared into the bathroom.

Her shower was quick for her, 18 minutes minimum. She'd dried off, toweled her wet braids and slipped on her nightgown, which was incredibly short and satin. It was rose gold colored with black lace framing the chest and bottom hemline.

She had forgotten it was still winter into the new year when she was packing. If she'd remembered, she would've never packed something so loose and cold. Michonne leaned against the sink and stared at herself in the mirror.

She tried to ignore the titillating feeling thrumming through her body, but she couldn't help it. She bit her lip, shifting on her legs. It had been a while since her last good lay and the erotic, concupiscent dreams weren't helping at all, it also couldn't help that there was a man outside that door alone.

When she exited the bathroom, Rick was fully underneath his blankets, lying on his stomach, eyes shut, head mashed against a black pillow. The indistinct sound of the news anchor reporting on the television echoed through the room.

 _Good_ , she thought. _He's asleep._

She shut the light in the bathroom off but kept the warm lamp on in the main room as she crept toward her bed and picked up her phone from the bedside table, she'd left it there.

When she turned it on, there was a text waiting for her. It had been sent while was in the shower. She leaned against the table and clicked it. It was a text from Glenn's phone number. She'd texted a simple _'hi'_ back at her house, so he'd know her number.

(333-444-555): _Meet tonight at the Rusty Box. I hit a jackpot._

ME: _the club? I can't. i'm out of town._

(333-444-555): _Then when?_

 _ME: monday._

(333-444-555): _See you there._

"Cute nightgown."

She whirled in surprise to see him, her back to the table. He was gazing at her out of one eye since the other side of his face was buried in his pillow, his hand grasping the other side of it.

"Thanks," she shivered. "but I'm cold."

"Do I have to say it?"

"Say what?"

He quirked his brows. "That we should cuddle."

"I—"

"Kidding." He said softly, his eyes fluttering. She could hear the tiredness in his voice. He hadn't slept on the bus and was really running on only a few hours of sleep. "Hey."

"What?" She turned off her phone and set it back on the table.

"You wanted to know why most of the family moved down here."

"I did."

"Well…my father got crazy." He said with his eyes shut, his voice peaceful. "He was so focused on grandfather, getting rid of the petitions, cleaning off the hate graffiti, so busy taking care of him that he forgot mother was even there. She felt neglected, less than. So, she left him. Well, not completely, she blows through town sometimes. She was at the Violette House party."

"I saw her."

"Yeah. She's doing better without him." Rick said, and then took in a breath. "God, it's freezing."

Michonne sighed, padding toward his bed. She lifted his blankets and slid beneath them. Immediately, warmth engulfed her. Rick rolled onto his side, his chest to her, his eyes open as he looked down at her.

 _If he keeps looking at me like that_ …

She blinked away his gaze, rotating over so her back was to him. "And—what else?"

"And my brother Jeffrey…" She enjoyed the muffled sound of his voice with his lips mashed up against the pillow. "He…messed something up for me, and I was so angry... but that's another can of worms, I won't get into that."

"Of course you won't. So, what did you do to make him run away? What was your revenge?"

"Sleeping with his wife, Carla."

Her eyes widened and she rolled over to face him.

" _What_?!" Her voice was a harsh whisper.

"Not my finest moment." He chuckled weakly. "That's why he moved down here, he really couldn't stand me. Still can't."

She stared at his chest, the shadows there. "Can you blame him?"

Silence.

"Rick?" She blinked up at his face, and his eyes were shut again. His breathing had dropped into a soft rhythm.

She sighed and cushioned her head on her own arm, staring at his peaceful form. She had seen him like this before, when she went to wake him for their trip to Glenn's. She liked him like this. Silent. He looked so comfortable, serene.

"How rude." She murmured, letting her eyes close.


	7. Complexity In Simplicity Art Gala

**_Complexity in Simplicity Art Gala Exhibition_**

She was having the dream. Again.

The one she'd had after falling asleep next to Rick on the bus to Timber Falls, the one where a faceless man had his hands on her, touching her, stroking her legs, touching _all_ over her and it felt _so good_ —

Michonne woke with a gasp and blinked open her eyes to the dimly lit atmosphere of their Nightjar room. She took a soft breath and looked down at the blue beneath her. She realized her head was resting atop the firm shape of Rick's chest, and she was supporting a bit of her head under her fist.

She looked up to gaze at his sleeping face but found herself looking into his eyes.

She opened her mouth. "W—"

" _Aht_." He held up a finger in her face. "We're 'pre-dating', as you said."

"Yeah?" Her voice was gravelly in her own ears.

"Yeah, so, you don't have to jump up and insult me." He gave a half-shrug. "This is what couples do."

She blinked against his shirt. "So, you're saying I have to endure this?"

"Precisely."

She sighed, and just looked at him. Rick's hair was in thin wet ringlets around his head and he was wearing different clothes, dark grey pants and a navy-blue sweater. He must've recently showered.

"You fell asleep on me." She said low, into his chest.

"I know."

"You told me some crazy shit."

"I know."

"You don't regret it?"

Rick shrugged. "Why would I?"

She watched the blue in his eyes as she spoke. "You were sleepy, _literally_ on sleep's edge, spouting your darkest secrets. I would."

"Are you implying we aren't ourselves when we're tired?" He was looking down at her, seemingly invested in the conversation she'd begun, interested in what she had to say, a rare occurrence for her.

"That or maybe we're _too_ much of ourselves." She moved her cheek against the soft yarn of his sweater. "A vulnerable, exposed side of us that steals the show when we're sleepy."

"And when someone else happens to be around…"

"…we let it all out." She finished for him. "Yeah."

"Interesting theory." He curved his lips downward. "But that's not what made me tell you all that. You asked on the bus, and I just answered, maybe a few hours late, but I was suddenly in the mood to answer you. Like—"

"Like the exposed version of yourself!" She snapped her finger, pointing at him. "You couldn't tell me on the bus, but—"

"I was tired on the bus too."

"Yeah right, or you're just desperately trying to prove me wrong." She rolled her eyes.

"Whatever, get off of me and get ready so we can go."

"Go?" She blinked up at him.

"There's an art exhibition I'm trying to make." He said. "I want you to come with me."

"Aw." She sat up, sliding her legs over the edge, her voice grating and tired. "You want me to go with you."

"Just get ready, will you?" He grabbed the remote from the bedside table and turned up the television which was showing a horror film.

* * *

"I missed this."

Thalia was lying on his chest, tracing slow circles across his thin shirt, her voice soft. Early morning sun pierced through the half-open windows.

Malcolm had her clutched in the circle of his arm. "You wouldn't if you stayed for more than every other week."

She chuckled, looking up at him. "As much as I love being apart of this…little family of yours, I have my own back in Washington."

"Move them down here." He said. "It'll fix all our problems."

"Problems? Like that pestilential daughter of yours?"

"Yes. She just needs people." He said, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. "After Belakane…I think she needs someone to attach herself to. I thought those friends of hers would help, but I suppose I was wrong."

She stroked his chest. "What did she do?"

"Yesterday, I told her the relationship with the Grimes boy wasn't received well in the media—"

She chuckled. "I told you that was a bad idea. You should've known."

"Yeah, well, I told her they could stop flaunting to the media, they could never be in the same room again." He said, shaking his head. "I thought she'd jump at that, she hates the boy."

"But?"

"But a friend of mine saw her getting on a bus to Timber Falls with him." He sighed, shaking his head. "I think they've developed feelings. I think they're in an actual relationship."

"Malcolm!" Thalia sat up beside him with a jolt. "And you're allowing this? Why aren't you on your own bus down there right now?"

"Seems futile at this point." He removed his arm from around her. "It doesn't matter what I say, she….she just won' t listen to me."

"To you." Thalia, clutching the sheets over her chest with one hand, reached for her phone on the bedside table with the other. She tapped at the screen for a moment, until her phone chimed. "There."

"What did you do? If she isn't listening to me, she most definitely won't listen to you."

"Then I'll make her. You know me. I can." Thalia brushed her dark curls behind her ear. "I just bought a bus ticket to Timber Falls."

* * *

"I know. I'm late." Michonne grumbled as soon as she'd locked up after herself and joined Rick at the car. He was in the front seat, and she'd just pulled open the passenger's door, and was stepping up into the car, her layered thin chain choker jingling around her neck during the hassle. She shut the door and strapped herself in, popping another peppermint in her mouth she'd stuffed in her clutch from the lobby.

Michonne, puzzled by the lack of talking Rick was doing, turned to face him. He'd usually be babbling her ear off at this point but looking over to him, she saw that he was gazing at her.

Her crunching slowed, and she stared around in confusion. "You're staring at me like I have lipstick on my teeth…"

"Michonne…"

"Well, do I?" She turned his rear-view mirror toward herself to look but there was none, her dark red lipstick hadn't reached her teeth.

"It's not that." He shook his head, staring at her as if she was an alien. "It's just you're beautiful. You look stunning."

Michonne rose her brows and straightened the mirror, and looked at him, then down at herself. He'd said art exhibition and she instantly thought rich, expensive people so she'd thrown on a black sequined dress that stopped halfway past her knees. It had a plunging neckline with thin silver chain straps that crossed over her back to form an X. Due to the cold, she'd thrown on her coat atop it.

And her braids, she'd pulled that up into a high bun, a few braids dangled loosely by the sides of her face. She hadn't brought any earrings, she thought they'd go great with the outfit. But makeup, she did bring, and she'd done a simple layer, some faint eyeshadow, a bit of eyeliner, heavy on the lipstick.

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

He started the car. "It's not necessarily _nice_ , it's reality, it's fact. You see it and you know it, like seeing a piece of bread and knowing it's a piece of bread."

He pulled out of the Nightjar Inn's parking lot and onto the road, those icy roads. She shivered as a thought occurred to her.

"Are you seriously trying to defend complimenting me? And with _bread_? We're 'pre-dating', like you said." She popped another peppermint in her mouth. "You don't have to do that."

"No, you said that."

"Still, you don't have to."

"I guess old habits die hard." He made a turn.

"Well, you know what they say…beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

He peered at her from the corner of his eye. "Yeah."

"You know…" she sighed as they came down an icy road, "we don't have to do this, don't you?"

"Hmm?"

"My dad, he, uh, told me that the media doesn't like it, doesn't like _us_. Us being together will actually affect the town's voting decisions, affect how they see our parents. They'll hate them." Michonne gazed at the side of his face, watching the way his brows pushed forward as he listened to what she had to say. "So what I'm saying is…if-if you're only trying to discover— _unearth_ whatever this is because you thought you'd have to spend so much time with me….you can stop. We can just never see each other again."

"That's close to impossible in a small town like Vanity Front."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "You know what I mean, Rick."

"No." He said simply. "No, I didn't do all of this because of that. That's pretty stupid to ask me, Michonne. Are you stupid?"

"Shut up, it wasn't a question. And it's not stupid, it's a pretty reasonable reason."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"So, are _you_? Only trying to unearth this veiled attraction between us because you thought we'd be joined at the hip indefinitely?"

"Maybe a little."

"Okay, that's fair." He said, maneuvering the car to the side to fit in through the gated parking lot doors. She was amazed at how foggy Timber Falls could be as they pulled into a parking space and Rick stopped the car.

"This art thing you have…it's cute." She said, undoing her seatbelt, and opening the door. "It's one of your charms—well, your only charm."

"Really?" Rick opened his own door, then looked back at her. "The pearls don't do it for you?" He wiggled his brows to enhance his eyes, and they seemed to twinkle an incredible blue as he said that.

She shook her head. "Nah."

He chuckled and they exited the car.

They headed out of the parking lot and down the sidewalk. Rick led the way and Michonne clacked across the earth in her black heels, shivering slightly. Her coat was thinner than it should be.

They approached the gallery building. A banner was set up.

 _Complexity in Simplicity Art Gala Exhibition_.

Fancy, expensive cars were littered across the street, masses of snow piling up at their wheels.

Rick pulled open the glass door and let Michonne in. He followed after her.

Immediately, she was warmed. She wanted to gasp as she took in the area.

It was a splash of art, too much art to even fully process with her eyes. So, something easier to take in were the guests and there were a lot of them. They stunk of money and they were in each corner of the room, gazing at pieces, drinking wine, discussing with artists. The room was a bunch of murmuring with low evening music.

"Rick, this is…incredible." They walked deeper into the gala side by side, her mouth agape as her eyes went from piece to piece.

The art wasn't fit into the usual gallery structure with artwork spaced out along a white wall. The art seemed to be conjoined. Where one art piece ended, another started. And there weren't just paintings, there were some feathered works, fabric strips, origami. It was an assemblage of color, pale pinks, dark reds, sky blues, turquoise and ambers.

"Isn't it?"

She looked over to him and saw the awe she felt in his eyes but ten times more intense. If it was possible, she could see his raw fondness for the art as he gazed at it. She liked that look. But with that affection, she swore she saw pain.

"You must attend these all the time." She said. "You are an artist, after all."

"No, I…hardly have the time." His voice was soft, his eyes hadn't left the art. "It's sad, really."

Michonne opened her mouth to offer something cheerful, but another woman's voice cut through hers.

"Rick?"

They both turned around, facing the tall form of a woman.

She was white, with pretty dark red hair and gorgeous brown eyes. She wore a pink satin gown and small brown heels; her hands were clutching a champagne glass in front of her.

Her eyes slid past Michonne and to Rick, and when they were set on him…Michonne swore she saw the fondness that Rick had held toward the artwork in them.

Michonne looked from the woman and Rick, breathing in slowly, the air was thick in their unspoken history. Michonne could practically taste it.

"Um, hi." Michonne said to cut through the atmosphere.

The woman blinked, as if snapped out of a trance, and looked away from Rick, to Michonne. "Hello. Carla. Dixon. You must be Michonne Jesekai."

Carla? _The_ Carla?

" _And my brother Jeffrey…_ " Rick had said the night before. " _He…messed something up for me, and I was so angry... but that's another can of worms, I won't get into that_."

" _Of course you won't. So, what did you do to make him run away? What was your revenge?_ " She'd asked.

 _"Sleeping with his wife, Carla."_

"You know about me?"

Carla tipped her glass into her own mouth, sipping her wine. "Well, I _am_ married to a Grimes."

Yes, you're _married_.

The woman wiggled her fingers in the air, indicating the fat rock on her ring finger and it was a gorgeous little thing. A squared diamond that sparkled to match the extravagant ambiance of the exhibition.

"This is the last place I expected to see you, Carla." Said Rick, finally speaking.

For an odd reason, seeing—no, _feeling_ the history in the atmosphere between Rick and Carla made her feel ridiculous. _Pursuing_ Rick when he's clearly got other attachments. Jessie and Carla, two gorgeous women each with their own appealing distinctiveness's who rather _obviously_ _wanted_ him.

Why was she here, with him, and they weren't? What could be so special about her?

A caterer was passing with drinks, and Michonne stole away a glass of champagne, she downed it, then slapped it back on his tray. She smiled at the caterer and he headed away.

"You think I could resist after the one you took me to last year?" Carla's pretty amber eyes were bursting affectionately.

"That was last year?" Rick's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Feels like forever ago."

Carla nodded slowly, her long chain earrings jangling. She was perfect. Every little movement, every little thing she did sparkled or sparked. Jingled or clinked.

"Well, I'll be with my entourage." Carla said. "We're considering the _Perch_ piece, so try to avoid that one, will you?"

She offered a wide smile, gave Rick one more sparkling look before heading past him to entangle herself into a small group of people.

"So…it's been a few hours and you've already met Carla." Rick said, shaking his head. "Who's next, Jessie?"

Michonne turned her head to her side, catching a couple share a kiss.

It was the smallest thing, the woman's hands slipping into the man's curls, his lips on hers, but _enough_.

Michonne clutched her legs together as the one thing that had been nagging at her since the moment she stepped foot in Timber Falls throbbed through her body.

She looked at Rick.

A mistake.

He was staring ahead, and his curls were perfectly curving over and behind his ears, silky and dark. His nose, that flawless structure…and his lips, she remembered how it felt when they were on hers. Her chest was on fire.

"Rick."

"Yes?"

She looped her arm through his and lugged him after her as she crossed the gallery floor. She advanced toward the back near the STAFF ONLY doors. It was far from the event, and beside those doors her eyes landed on the bathroom door.

She headed to it and pushed that door open, slipping inside, pulling Rick after her.

The bathroom was almost as, if not more, fancy as the initial event. There were pink hand towels, and an expensive-looking plush red couch, it smelled of perfume.

She pressed Rick to the wall and moved into his space, Michonne pressed herself into him, burying her head into the curve of his neck while using one hand to clutch the side of his head. Her nose brushed the skin of his neck, and she breathed him in. That Rick scent, some perfume he must've put on. She felt Rick's hands come up to rest on the low of her back where the dress exposed her skin, his hands were cold against her skin as he held her in.

 _Put it on a leash._

Michonne took a breath, shutting her eyes, then stepped back out of his arms, reaching up to rub her forehead.

"Sorry, that was..." She trailed off.

"We're in a gala bathroom and we haven't even purchased anything." Rick said. "I'm sure you just broke a bunch of proper etiquette regulations."

"Not helping." She groaned.

"With what?"

She dropped her hand from her forehead and swallowed hard. "The fact that I've been…unconsciously imagining ripping your clothes off all day."

Rick's lips parted and his brows rose, eyes widening a little. He looked genuinely surprised.

"Yeah." She shook her head.

"You too?"

She blinked at him, perplexed. "Me too?"

"What do you think I've been imagining since the moment you got into my car in that thing?" His eyes dropped to her dress, her sequined black dress.

"Oh… _thank god_ it's not just me." She released a breath of relief, walked in the other direction then back to him. "Rick, my body is on _fire_. It's like—it's like an _itch_ and I'm just…it's-it's _too much_."

"So, what do you want to do about it?"

She stopped pacing and glanced at him, biting her bottom lip. "I don't know, let's just…go back to the motel and-and—"

"And have sex?"

"Hey, you said it." She gave a half-shrug.

"I can't." Rick said, stuffing his hand into one pocket. "No, _we_ can't. We have dinner at the Anastasie House, remember?"

"Dinner at the who?"

"My family's home."

"No way." Michonne shook her head. "I'm not going to that."

"Come on, Michonne." He groaned. "Play the part. Pre-girlfriends attend family dinners, pre-girlfriends _play_ the buffer at said family dinners. I need you."

"And _I'm_ sexually frustrated." She went to door and pulled it open, Rick came after her and they headed back into the event. "This is ridiculous."

"It's one dinner."

She turned her head to him as they walked. "It's not just dinner, it's—"

She whirled to look ahead and see where she was going and saw that a waiter was carrying a tray of filled champagne glasses, sloshing with golden wine so she took a step back to avoid actually clashing with the waiter and heard a snap. Her heel had broken, and she was nearing ground.

And Rick was there, hauling her up in his arms the way he'd held her while she was sleeping. This kept much of the events guest from looking further. The waiter walked past, and most of the attention was off of them. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders to hold herself up.

"Rick, _stop_." Michonne said in embarrassment, her eyes low.

Him holding her, and their bodies once again pressed against each other was annoyingly effective at this point.

"What? I like carrying you." Rick didn't seem to be bothered by the few eyes on him as he headed toward the doors of the gala, her in his arms.

She shook her head frustratingly, her bun flopping behind her, staring at him with suggestively disappointed eyes. "You can carry me, but you can't sleep with me?"

He looked up to her, his eyes reluctant. "I can't miss dinner."

"I know." She groaned, dropping her head and burying her face into his shoulder, still clutching him for balance. "You know you're not helping my ever-increasing hypersexuality. At all." She murmured into the fabric of his top.

They headed out into the evening blue sky, cold wind hit her like a wave, but she liked it, that crisp feeling as the wind passed over her face, her hair. It was cleansing.

"Yeah, neither is you pressing yourself against me like that."

She raised her head and smirked at him. "Rick…my heel is broken. We're _going_ to have to go back to the inn."

"For shoes. We're not missing dinner, Michonne."

"No fun."

* * *

And they'd drove back to the inn in a silent ride consisting of Michonne attempting to gather herself and all the libido that seemed to be bursting out of her. When they parked, got out, and slipped inside, Michonne went straight for her things, while Rick dropped down on the bed and turned on the television with the remote.

Her phone buzzed when she went for the pair of boots she had worn initially, she took it out of her clutch, looked at it and sighed.

"Who just made you look _that_ disappointed?"

She looked up at Rick, setting the phone on the bed. "Um…my father."

"Oh."

"Exactly." She dropped down onto her bed and began removing her black heels, she dropped them on the floor and slipped her feet into the boots.

"Do you plan on forgiving him? Your father?" Rick asked from his reclined position on the bed. He watched her fitting her feet into them.

She sighed again. "Yeah…but, I don't know what to say." Michonne said from her bed, looking at him as she spoke. "I want to forgive him, it was a human mistake—well, an odd and _violent_ human mistake, but a mistake."

"Don't be an idiot, you could've been killed." Said Rick who looked back at the television, a romantic comedy was playing. "Plus he tried to _threaten_ my father and who knows? Maybe kill him. That man is demented."

"Okay, not too much." She frowned, looking down to strap her boots up.

Rick sighed. "At the very least, we've been nonbelligerent about this whole situation, never resorting to any physical violence—"

"Like Frederick?" Her voice was sharp, which made him look at her again. "Was _he_ nonbelligerent?"

"Watch it, Michonne." He warned.

"No, _you_ watch it. That's my father you're talking about."

He raised his brows. "The same father that threw you at us to fix his problems like you were just another tool in his shed? That one?"

Michonne watched him in disbelief, before gathering herself, her choker, and pulling herself off of the bed in silence. She padded into the bathroom.

"Michonne—come on."

She heard him shut the TV off.

"No. That was low, even for you." She said, pulling the cold silver around her neck, attempting to clasp it.

He entered the bathroom and stood by the door, watching her. "Was it, though? Really?"

She frowned, shaking her head. "No."

"Exactly." He set his foot out to come closer into the bathroom.

"No." She repeated, holding out her hand in his direction.

"Relax, I'm just trying to help you with that." He said, walking behind her and taking each side of the choker from her.

The cold metal brushed her skin as he worked, and his own hands she could feel against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. She stared in the mirror at herself and Rick hovering behind. She watched his determined eyes.

"I can feel every movement of your fingertips on my skin." She said, shutting her eyes. "It's not helping."

"Sorry." He said, and there was a click. "There."

His hands dropped and she opened her eyes, looking up at herself in the mirror. The sequined black dress, the silver choker, her high bun. Perfect.

"Thank you." She turned to look at him and patted his shoulder. "Let's go."

She moved past him and back into the main room.

"Of course."

* * *

And they had gotten back to car, and Michonne sat in the passenger's seat of Rick's car as he drove across a bridge headed toward the Anastasie House, staring at the blankets of snow covering the town.

The entire day, on her own, she hadn't spared a painful thought toward her father, toward her friends. In fact, she had forgotten about everything back home. And it was good. It felt _good_.

She was enjoying herself.

No—she was enjoying herself… _with_ Rick.

Today, she thought she witnessed another side of him. She turned her head to look at him.

Not just his behavior toward her, not just that. His fondness of art, the love in his eyes when he looked at those pieces. It actually warmed her heart to know what he loved.

* * *

Thalia Lawson-Jesekai sighed, sitting at the very back of the bus that was headed to Timber Falls, and pulled out her cellphone. She went through her contacts.

Michonne.

She began punching in a message.

ME: _Came down to Vanity Front this morning! You weren't here :( Malcolm said you were going away, but never told him where. Where are u? We just want to know you're safe before we head out to a charity event!_

 **(…)**

*JUST NOW* MICHONNE: _Don't worry. I'm with Sasha, we're in Timber Falls staying at the Blue Nightjar Inn. We're safe, promise. Back on Monday._


End file.
